Second Chances
by Vampire-Badger
Summary: After losing to Juno in New York, Desmond wakes up at the Farm; he's sixteen years old, the year is 2003, and the end of the world is years away. He can change things. He's been given a second chance, to save everything- but he's not the only one to come back, and things are never as easy as they seem.
1. Chapter 1: Desmond

A second chance. It was supposed to be a perfect opportunity. A chance to change, to go back and fix your mistakes. They weren't supposed to be hard, and they weren't supposed to mean waking up one morning sixteen years old again, stuck nine years in the past, confused and traumatized and sort of hallucinating.

Except this was exactly the sort of second chance Desmond had found himself stuck in, with the added bonus that he was pretty sure he should have been dead. Instead, he'd woken up in 2003, back on the Farm where he'd spent his childhood, a head full of memories that hadn't happened yet.

It was kind of disorienting, and sometimes Desmond found himself wondering if it had all been just a dream. Running away, living in New York, being captured by Abstergo, escaping- the apple- Lucy- and then dying. Sometimes he thought he must be going crazy, but the memories were all there, clear as day. And then there were the hallucinations- if an ever worsening bleeding effect could be considered proof of anything.

Most of the time, he found himself hoping it had all been real, however impossible it seemed. He'd lived more during the last four months of his life than in the twenty five years before them. For once, he'd felt like he'd belonged- like he could make a difference. It had been nice to have something to believe in.

And here he was, back at the beginning, facing the question- if it was real, if he had been killed in Juno's Temple nine years in the future and half a continent away, why had he been sent back? And how? And what was he supposed to do?

The uncertainty gnawed at him constantly, making him distracted and miserable. He spent his days lying to everyone, not because he wanted to, but because he didn't want them to think he'd gone crazy. And the nightmares he'd been having ever since he'd first been captured by Abstergo grew worse. One wet Monday a few weeks after waking up in 2003, Desmond woke from a particularly bad one to find his dad standing over him, looking concerned. It was not a familiar sight.

"Dad," Desmond said. He was breathing heavily- the nightmare he'd just woken from hadn't been one of his, but one of Ezio's, and it was harder than he liked to admit to force his mind back into the present day. "Um. Hi."

"You were yelling in your sleep," his father said, expression unreadable.

"Nightmare," Desmond muttered, standing up. He had been lying on the floor, having fallen out of bed at some point during the dream.

"In Italian," said his father.

"Oh." He didn't meet his father's gaze. There was no explanation he could give that wouldn't make him sound completely crazy.

His father sighed. "Desmond," he began, in a tone Desmond knew very well. It was the one his dad always used for lectures. "You've been acting strangely lately. You've actually been doing your training, and you've been doing it extremely well."

Desmond winced. He'd forgotten what it was like to be sixteen. The constant arguments with his family, over what they saw as his dangerously stubborn refusal to involve himself in anything related to the assassins. With all that had happened lately- well, he hadn't even bothered trying to be the same Desmond who'd run away nearly a decade ago. He'd changed too much, and apparently people had noticed.

"We haven't argued in weeks," his father continued.

Desmond bit his lip and looked down as the memory of his father, captured by Vidic flashed through his mind. Some things are hard to appreciate until you realize how easy they would be to lose.

"And you've been jumpy," his father finished. "It's not just these nightmares."

Desmond wondered how many people wouldn't be jumpy, if they had to deal with hallucinations from the bleeding effect on an almost daily basis, hallucinations that had grown worse and more frequent since coming back to the past. He tried to think of something to say, but in the end all he could think of was to fall back on acting like an obnoxious teenager- there had to be some advantages of going through puberty twice.

"So you're pissed at me for doing what you want," he said.

"Desmond, there's no need for-" his father caught himself and lowered his voice. It was barely two in the morning. "I'm just concerned."

"Don't be," said Desmond, more harshly than he'd meant to.

"It's just that we're going to have someone coming to stay with us and I'd rather you didn't scare her away."

"Wait, what?" Desmond had expected more arguments about his behavior, not a bombshell about someone new coming to the Farm. "Her? Who her?" He didn't remember anyone coming to stay the first time around, but then, this was about the time he'd run off, originally. He should have been halfway to New York already.

"A novice," said his father. "A new recruit named Lucy."

"No." The word escaped him before Desmond could even think of holding it back. That wasn't right, was it? She hadn't come to the assassins so early. Or had she? And either way, what was he supposed to do when he saw her? The last time they'd been together, he'd killer her.

-/-

She arrived the next morning, just after breakfast, carrying a shiny black umbrella and a beat up backpack. Desmond watched her arrive, hidden up a tree so he could see her without being seen. He followed her as his mother showed her around the Farm. He watched her smile, and wondered how genuine it was. Was she already working for Abstergo, planning to betray them?

He successfully avoided her until right before dinner, when she cornered him in his room. She tried to smile, but one look in her eyes was enough to tell him- no matter how impossible it seemed, this was the same Lucy he had known, and killed- the one from the future, given a second chance just as he had been.

"Hi," she said. "I'm-"

"I'm sorry I killed you," Desmond blurted. "But I'm not sorry I stopped you." He didn't know what made him say it, but the moment he did, Lucy closed her eyes and sagged against the wall.

"So you didn't make it either," she said. "You're dead too."

"Looks like," said Desmond, quietly.

For several minutes they stood in silence, looking at anything but each other. Then Lucy asked, "So what are we supposed to do now?"

"I have no idea," said Desmond.

"Are you going to tell-"

"No." Desmond laughed. "What am I supposed to tell people, that I'm from the future and- and I don't know. It sounds crazy to me. It'll sound even worse to anyone else."

"I know what you mean."

They went back to avoiding each other for a while, then- "Truce?"

Desmond sighed. "I don't think I can trust you in a truce."

"You're the one that killed me," Lucy pointed out.

"And you're the templar spy," Desmond shot back. "What are you even doing here, anyway?"

"I'm hoping for a second chance," said Lucy quietly. "I've been here months. Thinking."

"I don't believe you," said Desmond, angry because he wanted to.

"I don't expect you too," said Lucy. "I never expected you to be here at all, really, but, Desmond- I'm sorry you're dead."

Desmond didn't answer at first, but then he said, "I'm sorry I killed you."

"I'm sorry I'm a templar."

And somehow, that was what broke the tension. "What?" Lucy demanded. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because life is ridiculous and we're having this conversation."

"And how did we even get here?" Lucy was laughing now too. "It's not funny, but..."

"It's better than going crazy," Desmond said.

"Am I interrupting something?" Desmond's mother stood in the doorway, an expression halfway between confusion and amusement on her face.

"What?" Desmond tried to stop laughing but another glance at Lucy only made it worse. "No, not really."

"Well, dinner's on the table," said his mother. "It's ready when you are."

-/-

**Well, I thought I'd never come back to writing fan fiction, but here I am again, a bit out of practice but we'll see where this goes.**


	2. Chapter 2: Desmond

A week passed, and then another; spring faded into summer, without much change. Desmond's nightmares continued, getting neither better nor worse, although he did learn to hide them, so at least there were no more awkward conversations with his father at two in the morning.

Then there was training- he'd learned a lot from the animus, more than he could hide from his father during training sessions, no matter how hard he tried. And he did try- although in the end, all this did was make his performance so sporadic, it might possibly have been better if he hadn't tried to hide his skills at all. No one had said anything yet, but Desmond knew it was only a matter of time.

And then- Lucy. Desmond couldn't work out how he felt about her. There were still echoes of the old feelings, the friendship and the could have beens from Italy. But there was guilt there too, and anger, and betrayal. And then there were hormones, which , as usual, were not helping anything.

And then one day, Desmond's father sat him down for a conversation. "We need to talk."

"Right, dad. Because that's always a great start to a conversation."

"Sit."

"Dad-"

"Sit."

He sat. They sat together, across the kitchen table, Desmond's father staring unblinkingly at his son across the table.

Desmond tried not to feel intimidated. He tried to remind himself that he'd survived being kidnapped by Abstergo, being mind controlled by Juno, and even his own death. Technically. Somehow, it didn't help. He still found himself squirming. "So... what did you want to talk about?"

"We're going to try something different during training today. A mock fight. You and Lucy."

"What? No, dad, I can't."

"You can't?" His father's eyes narrowed. "That's not how it works, Desmond."

"But I..."

"No buts. I' can see that you've both been holding back. Don't think I haven't noticed. Hopefully this will get you to show me exactly what it is you've been hiding."

Not likely, Desmond thought.

His father stood up. On his way out, he called back, "You. Lucy. Training ring, one hour."

Half a minute later, Lucy came into the kitchen, looking worried. "What was that about?" she asked.

"He wants us to fight this morning," Desmond explained bitterly. "I tried to get out of it, but he never listens to anything I say. I mean, would it kill him to just hear me out for once?"

Lucy laughed. "You sound like an actual teenager," she said.

"Hormones," Desmond grumbled. "Anyway, how are we going to get out of this?"

"Who says we have to?" asked Lucy. "We'll just fake it."

"He's not going to buy it today," Desmond said. "Trust me, he's serious. And we can't do this." Suddenly, he couldn't meet her eyes. "I don't want to kill you again."

"Last time was- weird." Lucy suddenly seemed to find the table extremely interesting. "I could take you in a fair fight. And we'll be using practice weapons, not real ones."

"You can kill with those."

"Are you planning to kill me?" Lucy asked.

"No."

"And I'm not planning to kill you," said Lucy. "So. Now that's out of the way-"

"Really?" Desmond asked. "That's it?"

"Sure," said Lucy. "I trust you."

"Really?"

"Yea."

Desmond considered that for a second, then- "What do you mean you could take me? How many master assassins' memories do you have in your head?"

Lucy laughed. "Right, sorry," she said. "I forgot to be scared of your three whole months of training."

"You still couldn't take me."

"I could."

"Well I guess we'll find out!" It was a relief, this banter. It was a relief to be able to talk to Lucy, like nothing terrible had ever happened.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

They smiled at each other- then Lucy sighed. "No we won't," she said. "We'll be pretending we don't know what we're doing, even though your dad's getting suspicious, because what else are we supposed to do? But when you win, just remember it's because I let you."

"Not if I let you win first."

-/-

The Farm consisted of seven families, four of which had children in some stage of training. Not counting Desmond and Lucy, that made six novice assassins, all of whom had been gathered to watch the fight.

"Are you ready?" Desmond's father asked as the two of them stepped into the Farm's training ring.

"I still don't know why we need to do this," Desmond grumbled.

His father ignored him, and a moment later Desmond found himself facing Lucy across the open ring; they were both holding weapons, and although they were meant to be used for practice, Desmond still didn't like it.

He only had a moment or two to consider it though, before the signal was given to start, and it was too late to come up with any sort of excuse to back out.

Desmond charged at once, purposefully swinging his weapon in a wide arc leaving himself mostly open to a counterattack. Lucy ignored his invitation and stepped back, settling into a defensive stance that was just a little too wide, one leg bent forward within easy reach of Desmond's weapon. He could see her leaning on it, and knew he wouldn't have to hit it very hard for her to fall-

For just a second, in the stress of the fight, of trying to resist everything he'd learned, and throw the match to Lucy, Desmond's Eagle Vision activated- and he saw them.

Someone was coming.

Without conscious thought, he slid into an actual defensive crouch, an action he'd performed so many times in the animus it had become second nature. Lucy caught his eye and frowned. "Someone's coming," Desmond muttered, and a heartbeat later the Farm exploded into chaos as nearly two dozen men in combat gear rushed into view, heavily armed and apparently ready for a fight.

From what seemed an incredible distance, Desmond could hear his father barking orders, ordering the novices inside even as the Farm's fully trained assassins rushed outside to help. Desmond ignored the noise and readied himself to fight.

The fight was short but brutal. The assassins were outnumbered and unprepared, but also better trained and fighting for their homes. In minutes it was over- the invaders were down, and only two assassins had been seriously injured.

"Come on." Desmond touched Lucy on the shoulder. "Let's get out of here before anyone remembers to ask where we learned how to do that."

She grinned weakly and led the way to the opposite edge of the Farm, which stood empty for the moment. There was a low hill there, and the two of them sat on its top, catching their breath. A scared looking dog, one of the few kept at the Farm, whined piteously and put its head on Lucy's knees. She stroked his head absentmindedly and asked, "How did you know they were coming?"

"Eagle vision," said Desmond shortly. "Did you know?"

"I didn't call them here, if that's what you mean," Lucy snapped.

"Not like it would have been the first time," said Desmond. The leftover adrenaline from the fight was making him both twitchy and more brusque than he wanted to be. But the question needed to be answered. "Whose side are you on, anyway? Or have you not decided yet?"

Lucy bit her lip and focused on the dog. "I wish I knew," she said.

"Then why did you come here? You didn't have to."

"I don't know that either. It just felt like... this is where I need to be."

"So it's, what, fate?"

"Call it what you want," said Lucy. "I'm here now. The question is, why haven't you told anyone about me?"

He hadn't even considered it, and didn't know why. "I don't have a reason I can give them for suspecting you."

"You could have found some excuse," said Lucy.

"Do you _want _me to tell them?"

"No."

"Then just let it drop." He should have told someone. Until he knew what side Lucy was on, there was always the chance she would betray them. Again. And this time, maybe she wouldn't be the only one to get hurt. But Desmond didn't want to go back to being alone, the only one that remembered a future that hadn't happened yet.

Lucy interrupted his thinking. "What do you think they were doing here?"

Desmond shrugged. "I don't remember if this happened last time," he said. "But I'd already left for New York, so..." he shrugged. "I mean, we're both assuming they're templars, because who else would want to attack us?" Lucy nodded. "But other than that, I have no idea."

"Desmond! Lucy!" The sound of his mother's voice cut their conversation short. She'd come running up the hill toward them, a look of relief etched on her face. "There you are, thank God." She swept Desmond into an embrace, and smiled at Lucy. "Are you two alright?"

"We're fine," said Desmond.

His mother frowned, and reached out to touch his face. "You're bleeding."

He hadn't noticed until she mentioned it, but suddenly he felt a stinging pain across the side of his face. He touched the injury and smiled wryly at the familiar feeling. He'd gotten one just like it in a bar fight the first time around. Even in the animus, most of his ancestors had the same scar. "It's fine, mom," he said. "I think it's genetic."

She gave him a strange look, then laughed. "Well, I don't know about that. But you should get it looked at."

"I-" for just a second, the bleeding effect came roaring up around him, memories that weren't his drowning out the present. He was Ezio again, standing in the street with his brother, the exact same cut fresh on his face-

Lucy kicked him on the ankle, and the Farm snapped back. "What was that for?" he muttered.

"English," she hissed, and Desmond flushed. Another gift of the animus- unexpected change in languages.

"Right," he said. "I think I might have got... hit on the head, or something. I'm going to lay down."

**-/-**

***Feels obligated to put an author's note here, but has nothing to say***


	3. Chapter 3: Desmond

Desmond saw little of his father for the next week. Two of the attackers had survived the battle on the training field, and Desmond's father was one of the assassins tasked with finding out why they had come. For seven days, the rest of the farm busied themselves with burying the bodies left behind and cleaning up the damage done by the attack. On the eighth morning, Desmond came down for breakfast to find his father waiting at the table. He looked exhausted.

"Good," he said when he saw Desmond. "You're here." He gestured to an empty chair, and Desmond slid into it nervously. There was something about his father's expression that he didn't like.

"How's the interrogation going?" Desmond asked, after an uncomfortable silence had descended.

"Not well," said his father. "One of the captives got free last night, shot his companion, and killed himself before we could stop him.

"So you didn't learn anything?" Desmond asked.

"Not as much as we would have liked," his father admitted. "We know they weren't specifically looking for us- they were hunting an escaped prisoner of their own."

"Really? Who?"

"No idea," said his father. "We didn't learn a thing about him, except that apparently all those templars that came through here were after their one prisoner."

"Dad, there were at least thirty of them."

"His father nodded. "Exactly. Whoever the prisoner is, the templars- they were templars, by the awy- are desperate to get him back. We're not going to let that happen."

"You're going after him?" Desmond guessed.

"We are," his father corrected. "I saw you and Lucy during the attack." He looked smugly across the table at Desmond. "I knew the two of you were hiding something. I didn't think it would come out like that, but-"

Desmond shook his head quickly. "It was just- adrenaline or hormones or something."

"Hormones," his father repeated flatly.

"Come on," Desmond rolled his eyes. "I never leave the Farm. You would have seen me if I was doing all this extra practice or whatever you're accusing me of."

"I'm not accusing you of anything! Actually, I'm-" he hesitated. "I'm proud of you. I never thought you were even interested in this life, but here you are, excelling."

"Thanks," Desmond muttered. The moment grew yet more awkward.

"Anyway." Desmond's father cleared his throat. "I think you and Lucy have been soing well, and I think you're ready for some field work."

"Alright."

"Really? No argument?" His father seemed surprised. "I didn't think you would want this. You've never seemed to before."

"I've... changed my mind," said Desmond.

"Really. Why?"

"You wouldn't understand."

His father sighed. "Desmond, that's the oldest one in the book."

"Doesn't mean it's not true." Time travel, the animus, Juno and the end of the world? Desmond barely understood it himself. "And anyway, I'm agreeing with you. Why are we still arguing?"

"Right." Desmond ignored the suspicious look his father shot at him as he continued. "We took a tracking monitor off one of the templars. He won't be needing it anymore."

"They planted a tracker on this guy they're looking for?" Desmond asked. "Won't he have a week's head start on us?"

"He passed through this area about half a day ahead of the templars," his father answered. "He kept moving for another two days and then stopped, apparently in the middle of a large forest preserve- open, wild, good place to hide, if it's the sort of place you're comfortable in."

"So he's just... stopped in the middle of some random forest somewhere," said Desmond.

"Unless he managed to lose the tracker, in which case we have no idea where he's gone."

"Great," said Desmond unenthusiastically. A road trip with his assassin father and triple-possibly-quadruple-agent-not-exactly-ex-girlfriend. There was no way it would end nicely.

-/-

The rented car that took Desmond, his father, and Lucy out of the farm was definitely too small, even though they'd traveled light- a change of clothes apiece and a small stockpile of weapons, and that was it. What really took up space was the silence. None of them wanted to start a conversation, or knew what to say had they wanted to.

Lucy finally gave it a shot anyway. "So. Two day road trrip?"

"Less," Desmond's father answered. "It looks like the target was on foot most of the way- we're moving faster."

"And what are we doing when we get there?" Lucy asked.

"There's a lot of area to cover," Desmond's father answered. "we're going to split up. I'll head off on my own, you two stay together. Whoever finds this guy first- well, I suppose that depends on what sort of condition he's in."

"Why do we need to split up" Desmond asked. "Don't we have that tracking... monitor... thing?"

"It only gets us within five miles or so," his father explained. 'There's no decent signal with all this nature around." The way he said 'nature' made it sound dirty. "Smart place to hide if you realize you're being tracked."

The hours and miles rolled past slowly. An argument broke out over the use of the radio.

"It's not mission appropriate,' his father snapped when Desmond brought it up.

"really?" Desmond demanded. "So the guy we're tracking isn't going to take us seriously if we have the radio on?"

"This is an actual mission, Desmond. Try to at least pretend to take it seriously."

"I am," said Desmond. "I just think I could also take it seriously if we listened to the radio on the way there."

"Fine. If it'll stop your whining-"

"Dad, I'm not whining."

From the back, Lucy gave a snort of laughter which she quickly tried to cover with a cough.

"Just put it on."

Desmond jabbed the radio's power button. An old Britney Spears song instantly blasted out.

The radio remained off for the rest of the trip.

-/-

They stopped half a mile from their destination, and Desmond's father pointed him and Lucy in the direction he wanted them to take. "twelve hours, no more,. If you're not back on time, I will assume you've been killed or inured. If you're not, there will be consequences."

Desmond rolled his eyes. "I got it, dad. Be home by eleven, don't scratch the car-"

"Come on." Lucy shot Desmond a warning look and grabbed his arm. When they'd put a good bit of distance between them and the car, she rounded on him, hands on hips. "What was that, exactly?"

"What was what?"

"All that between you and your dad! What are you, sixteen?"

"Apparently," Desmond grumbled. "And anyway, I might as well be. He still treats me as a child."

"Possibly because you're acting like one?" Lucy suggested. "Listen- I know I'm the last person you're likely to want advice from, but remember he doesn't know what you've been through. To him, you're the same person you were a year ago- and from what I've heard, who you were a year ago was an immature brat."

"Gee, Lucy, thanks."

"I'm just telling it how I see it," said Lucy. "And more importantly, how your dad sees it."

They walked in silence for a while. Then Desmond said, "You're wrong, you know."

Lucy sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to sound harsh-"

"No, not about that," Desmond interrupted. "About you being the last person I'd want advice from. You're the only person who doesn't make me feel like I'm crazy. The bleeding effect is bad enough, but the time travel..." he hesitated, then admitted, "Sometimes I wake up and I can't believe any of it actually happened."

"So do I," said Lucy. "But then I see you, and-" she checked herself, and almost tripped over a tree root. An uncharacteristically clumsy gesture. "How bad is the bleeding effect?" she asked, to cover the awkward moment. "Is it getting worse?"

"Remember how you once told me the hallucinations weren't a problem unless they lasted longer than thirty seconds?" She nodded. "I'm lucky if I go thirty seconds without them, these days. Most of the time I can ignore it, but sometimes- sometimes I can't. I have conversations with people that aren't there, I have nightmares every time I drop off, and sometimes I can't tell my memories apart from my ancestors'. I'm losing it Lucy. And I don't know what to do."

He'd been avoiding her eye while he spoke, but as he finished, he turned to find her full on staring. "You should be drooling in a bed somewhere by now," she said. "Not running missions for the assassins. You're strong, Desmond. Anyone else-"

"I'm just lucky," said Desmond. "If I think about it too much, I'm not going to be able to hold it together."

"I understand," said Lucy. "And this isn't the best place to talk, I know, but we should. Soon. Keeping it all inside can't be good."

"Alright," said Desmond. "Later."

Overhead, thunder began to rumble and Desmond glanced up, grateful for the chance to change the subject. "Looks like rain."

"I think we have a while," said Lucy, glancing up. "Come on. We should keep searching while the weather holds." She sighed, glanced around. "Any idea of where to start?"

Desmond followed her example, taking stock of the area. His eye galnded on a tall oak not far off. "I'm going to get a better view."

The tree was perfect for climbing, and from its topmost branches Desmond could see a long way in every direction; for nearly a full minute he scoured the surrounding vista, but found no sign of their quarry. Thunder rumbled again, and this time there was no doubt that the rain was on its way.

A pile of leafy branches waited on the ground at the base of the tree, and by the time Desmond had leaped into it, the rain had started to fall. By the time he'd rejoined Lucy, it was pouring.

"We need to find somewhere to wait out the rain," Lucy called. She had to yell to be heard over the sound of the thunder.

"I saw a cave over there," Desmond pointed east, to where a large cliff face loomed menacinglyin the storm lit forest. Lucy nodded and they ran at it together. Desmond had little trouble, even with the ever worsening weather. With every step he took, he could feel himself slipping more completely into Connor's familiar gait. It was more of a reckless charge than anything, but it worked, and more than once Desmond had to stop and wait for Lucy to catch up.

When they finally reached the cave, Lucy flopped onto the stone floor an pushed her sopping hair off her face. "You look like you've had some practice at this," she said.

Desmond nodded. "Another ancestor."

"What was his name?"

"Ratonhnhake:ton."

Lucy mouthed the name, then repeated it out loud. She managed to mangle it only slightly.

"Yea," said Desmond. "Or Connor."

"I like that better," said Lucy. "But back to us- what do we do now?"

"I don't think we can do much now," Desmond admitted. "We'll never find anything in this rain."

Lucy nodded and looked around the cave. "Well we might as well get comfortable," she suggested, sitting back against the wall. "Do you think there's anything living in here?"

"Probably a couple of bears," Desmond said. "Maybe a colony of zombies."

Lucy scoffed. "Don't be stupid," she said. "Zombies don't live in colonies."

"Yea?" Desmond joined her on the ground. "What would you call a group of zombies then?"

"A horde," said Lucy. "Don't you ever watch zombie movies?"

"How is a horde better than a colony?"

"Because it is," sad Lucy. She frowned. "You were kidding about the bears, right?"

"Yea." Desmond nodded. "I'm sure there's absolutely nothing else in this... cave..." he trailed off. There was something- he could see the dark outline of a body right at the back of the cave.

"What is it?" Lucy asked. She stood up, following Desmond to the back of the cave. ""Did you see something?'

"Yea." In Eagle Vision, the slumped figure glowed golden. "And I think it's the guy we're looking for."

"Really?"

"But he doesn't look great." They hurried across the cave to the huddled figure. When they came closer, Desmond could see that their target was young, probably no older than his mid to late teens. He was also unconscious, lying on his stomach, and breathing shallowly.

"There's blood on the ground here," said Lucy. "Flip him over."

In the dim light, it was hard to see the extent of the stranger's injuries, but Desmond could see enough to tell it was bad.

"He needs help," said Lucy.

"I know," said Desmond. "But I don't know anything about medicine- it's not exactly part of the assassin training program."

"Maybe not in the animus," said Lucy. "But I've had first aid training." She held out an arm without taking her eyes from the stranger. "Give me your jacket."

When he had shrugged it off and handed it to her, Lucy set to binding the stranger's wounds. Desmond hovered uselessly for a few seconds, until a warning look from Lucy sent him to the opposite end of the cave. "I'll just... stay over here and keep watch," he muttered.

"You do that, Desmond."

-/-

Lucy finished her work and joined Desmond at the mouth of the cave, where they spent the next few hours in tired silence, waiting for the rain to stop. The sun had nearly set when the weather finally took a turn for the better. "We should head back," said Desmond."

"Our twelve hours are almost up," Lucy agreed. "And your dad's going to come looking if we don't hurry."

"Great," Desmond muttered, heading back into the cave. "Curfew. Come on, let's get started. Can we wake him up or are we going to have to curry him back?"

"I don't think we should wake him until we know how badly he's hurt," said Lucy. "I could tell he'd been shot, but I don't know what else is wrong with him. He could be infected, he could have other injuries, I don't know. I'm just not that good, and anyway it's way too dark in here."

"Fine." Together, they manhandled their patient off the ground and carried him to the front of the cave, where Desmond very nearly dropped him in surprise.

"Desmond, come on!"

"Lucy," Desmond said, suddenly quiet. "This is him."

"Who?"

"Connor."

"What, your ancestor?" Lucy shook her head. "Desmond, that's impossible."

"Why?" Desmond demanded. 'Because that would mean time travel? I think we both know that isn't a problem."

Lucy seemed ready to argue, but luckily didn't. "Whoever he is, he needs to get to a real doctor like yesterday."

Desmond nodded and together, supporting Connor between them, they started off again. The whole way back, Desmond could barely take his eyes from Connor- he knew it was him, no matter how skeptical Lucy seemed. He knew that face, thanks to the animus, knew it as well as his own, or Altair's or Ezio's, for that matter.

He did look different than Desmond was used to, though. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans, both bloodied and covered in dirt from his injury and the time he'd spent in the forest. His hair had been cut short as well, but unevenly, as though whoever had done the cutting hadn't cared much, or maybe had been in a hurry.

They reached the car with half an hour to spare, and found Desmond's father already there waiting. He looked like someone that had spent nearly twelve hours in the rain. "You found him."

"You don't have to sound so surprised," said Desmond. Lucy nudged him pointedly, and he swallowed the sarcastic comment he'd been about to add.

"I'm just wondering when you had time to look," his father pressed.

"He was in the cave we waited out the storm in," said Desmond. "Can we put him in the car now? He's heavy."

**-/-**

**Well this chapter was long, but the next one's going to be short unless I suddenly decide I need additional subplot or something. So I guess I'm saying don't get used to it. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4: Desmond

They didn't head back for the Farm right away, but headed instead to a nearby hospital where apparently Desmond's father knew a doctor that wouldn't need too many details. On the way, Desmond and Lucy were treated to a bombardment of questions. Where had they found him, exactly? How had they done it so easily? This lasted the entire ride tot he hospital, where Desmond's father went to find his contact. Desmond was about to step out of the car as well when Lucy grabbed his arm.

"Desmond, wait."

"What?"

"Something's wrong," said Lucy, her voice low and urgent. "We should never have been put on this mission. We don't have all the training we should, and the mission itself was a joke- he can't have expected us to succeed. We just didn't have enough information. And then we did find him- easily- the only explanation is that we already knew where he was, and since he was a templar prisoner..."

"It's not really that crazy we found him," said Desmond. "I learned what I know about the outdoors and forests from being inside his head. Of course we'd look for the same kind of shelter. If we were in the same area at all, it's actually kind of likely we'd end up in the same place..." he hesitated as he finally got Lucy's implication. "Wait. You think he thinks we're templars."

Lucy shrugged. "Makes more sense than time travel."

"Everything makes more sense than time travel. But- I mean, we helped fight those templars off when they attacked the Farm."

"And didn't that fight seem too easy?" Lucy pressed. "Like they weren't even trying to win?"

"What? No, we just had better training."

"Training they don't know we've had," said Lucy. "Trust me, this is what my life's been for years- I know how to tell when people are suspicious, and your dad was paranoid to begin with."

"Great," said Desmond. "So what do we do?"

"Best thing would be to leave," said Lucy. "Just get out of here. No more assassins, no more templars."

"Tried that," said Desmond. Didn't work. And I'm tired of running. If we're in the past, that means Juno hasn't taken over the world yet, and we have a chance to stop her. I'm not backing out now."

"Sorry, what?" Lucy frowned. "What exactly did I miss while I was dead?"

-/-

They spent the next three days at the hospital, waiting for Connor to wake up. As time went on, Desmond grew convinced that- much as he hated to admit it- Lucy was right. His father was past suspicious.

And his suspicions grew worse as the days passed, mostly because Desmond and Lucy kept running off to distant corners of the hospital, where Desmond did his best to explain what had happened in the temple with Juno. This was made more difficult by the fact that they were actively kept apart by Desmond's father.

"He thinks we're conspiring," Desmond complained during a rare stolen moment together.

"We pretty much are," said Lucy.

"We're not conspiring," Desmond protested. "we're-"

"Plotting?"

"Planning." After he'd finally managed to catch Lucy up, she'd agreed that Juno's plans were in desperate need of foiling- they weren't going to end well for anyone, weather they were templar, assassin, or none of the above. Unfortunately, they had no real idea of how to do that. It was extremely frustrating, and little time to plan, plot, or conspire with his father constantly looking over their shoulders. "I can't wait to get back to the Farm," Desmond complained. "It's got to be easier to slip away when dad's got something to keep him busy."

"Well we're not leaving here until Connor wakes up. The doctor said he was suffering from malnourishment an dexhaustion."

"He say anything else?" Desmond asked. "Like when he might wake up?"

Luch shook her head. "Have you been in to see him? Connor, I mean, not the doctor."

"No," Desmond admitted. "It's still way too weird."

"He's just lying in bed," said Lucy.

"I've been inside his head, Lucy," said Desmond. "The bleeding effect is bad enough. I think actually being in the same room as him, just sitting there- it's going to be too much. Especially when there are still parts of my brain trying to tell me I'm supposed to be him." He shook his head and repeated, "It's just too much."

"Too much," said Lucy flatly.

"I think my head might explode."

Lucy smiled, and Desmond didn't have the heart to tell her he wasn't joking. "Come on," she said. "Let's go in there now. You can just sit in for a few minutes, see that your brain doesn't explode, then leave."

"Lucy..."

"We can either do this now, or do it later with your dad in the room."

"Fine," Desmond grumbled. "But that was a low blow." And with that last complaint, he followed Lucy into Connor's room."

-/-

The room wa small, smelled of old people, and looked like it had seen better days- or perhaps decades. It did have a chair in the corner, and Desmond collapsed gratefully into it. His head was pounding, and visions of eighteenth century Boston started to crowd in around him, drowning out the reality of the hospital room. Soon, Boston had crowded the hospital room out completely- he couldn't see it at all.

"Desmond?" Lucy's voice sounded worried, and also very far away.

"Are you-"

He passed out, falling into blackness.

**-/-**

**Well, I did say it was short, but at least it's also today's second chapter. :) And anyway I had to cut it off here. Next chapter is a POV switch.**


	5. Chapter 5: Connor

**Just for the record, this chapter has spoilers for The Infamy DLC, but only some very early bits- like if you know what happens up until Connor wakes up in the cave with the clan mother you're golden.**

When Connor woke, he found himself in a place he did not know, something that had happened so often lately it had almost become routine. Not long ago, he'd woken in another world, one where Commander Washington was a monster, not a hero.

Connor suspected that Washington had also been his killer.

Three shots at point blank range were enough to bring anyone down, even without the bayonet to the stomach. And then, to wake up in the distant future, no more than a child- it was like no afterlife he'd ever heard of, but it made more sense than any other explanation he could think of.

The second time Connor woke up in a place he did not know had been somehow worse. He was in a small white room somewhere, mostly empty, apart from a few items so strange, he couldn't even guess what they were used for. Two of the walls had tall windows set into them- in one direction, the windows were blacked out, so that Connor could see nothing of what was on the other side. The windows on the opposite end of the room, however, showed a cityscape full of buildings so tall Connor thought he must have been dreaming, until he remembered he was probably dead. As far as he knew, the dead didn't dream.

In the middle of the white room was a white table, the only furniture in the room apart from the bed Connor had woken up in and a metal bowl behind a curtain in the corner (he later learned it was called a toilet). On the table sat a man, wearing a thin white coat and a smile that suggested he was extremely pleased with himself. Just that smile made Connor want to punch the main in the face, and only an intense pain in his stomach where Washington had shot him saved the stranger from a broken nose.

The man noticed Connor wince and his smile grew. "You might not want to move too much. You were barely in one piece when security found you. Patched you up as best we could, but whatever you've been doing isn't something you can just bounce back from."

"Who are you?" Connor demanded.

"My name is Vidic. But the more interesting question is who you are."

"What-"

But Vidic spoke right over him.

"A strange boy appears from nowhere, bleeding and nearly dead- my curiosity was aroused. I ordered you cared for, and while you recovered, I ordered tests done- blood tests, fingerprinting, DNA analysis. And would you like to know what these tests found?"

"No."

Vidic's smile slid off his face in a satisfyingly abrupt manner. "Tough cookies," he spat.

"...What."

"Just shut up and listen. We found out you don't exist. You don't match any of the medical records we have access to. And in case you were wondering, we have access to all of them. You've had none of the standard immunizations. Only one test came back with any kind of result. And that was the most interesting part of all."

Connor stayed silent, which unfortunately didn't seem to bother Vidic at all. The man seemed obsessed with the sound of his own voice

"Your DNA tests proved that you are exactly the sort of person we've been looking for," said Vidic. "You have a very special heritage, one that I would love to see for myself."

Something about the way he said it made the hair on the back of Connor's stood on end. The smile was back, a predator's smile.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's nothing you have to worry about," said Vidic. "Just focus on your injuries- the animus is hardly forgiving at the best of times." He patted Connor condescendingly, avoiding a broken wrist only because Connor was so confused.

What was an animus?

-/-

He'd found out, just over a month later, when he'd mostly finished healing from his various injuries. He spent that month alone in his prison room, eating the disgusting food a young, pimply assistant brought in twice a day, forming dozens of terrible escape plans so full of holes they weren't even worth trying. The problem was he just didn't know enough about where or when he was to be able to make a decent plan.

Then one day, Vidic and his pimply assistant appeared, and Vidic told Connor to get onto the slab in the middle of the room.

"Why?" Connor demanded.

"Because I said so," said Vidic.

"What is it?" Connor glared at the table distrustfully.

"The animus," Vidic's assistant piped up.

"Quiet," Vidic snapped. "You-" he pointed at Connor. "Lie down."

Connor considered fighting for a minute, but didn't. He'd been wondering about the animus since Vidic first mentioned it. Besides, lying on a glorified table wasn't going to hurt.

-/-

Except, as he discovered a few minutes later, it could. There was a horrible feeling of falling, and suddenly Connor found himself somewhere else, somewhen else, _someone _else. His mind exploded into an agony of panic, worse than any he'd felt since the day his mother had died.

He ran, blindly, tried to escape. Dimly, he realized his body wasn't moving, and he fought harder.

He heard the assistant's voice, apparently far away- "he's trying to break out of it."

"Don't be stupid," Vidic's voice answered. Grimly, Connor concentrated on that vocie, imagining himself forcing his way toward it. Imagined giving Vidic the punch to the face he had wanted to give him since the day they first met. "That's not possi-"

Connor returned to himself with an almost violent abruptness. He had rolled of the animus and punched Vidic out of the way before he or the assistant could do more than gape.

The room's doors were locked, but the dark glass on one end was all that seperated Connor from a much less secure office room, and after crashing through, nothing stood between him and freedom but a few dozen heavily armed guards.

They never stood a chance.

-/-

The third time Connor up in a place he did not know, the first thing he saw was an anxious girl bent over an unconcious figure in a chair. Connor sat up and winced. At some point during the escape he'd been shot- again- by Vidic's men, and this fresh wound hadn't healed yet.

He hesitated, not quite sure what was going on, but fairly sure it would end with him getting shot. Again. Very cautiously, he got out of bed and glanced around the room. There was only one way out and getting to the door meant going past the girl. She was still bent over the boy, trying to wake him up, but she would be sure to notice if Connor moved past her.

As though his thoughts had somehow alerted her to his presence, the girl glanced back over her shoulder, and her eyes widened. "Connor?" she said. "You're awake?"

"How do you know my name?" he hadn't told anyone since waking up.

"It's a long story," the girl answered. "And I"m not sure we have time for it now-"

The door opened, and a middle aged man came in. He stopped in the doorway, apparently surprised to see Connor awake and on his feet. Then his eyes shifted to the girl. "How long ago did he wake up?"

"I don't know," said the girl. "Not long."

"'He' is standing right here," said Connor. "And 'he' would like to know what's going on. Now."

His only answer was a groan from the chair in the corner as its occupant woke up. His eyes met Connor's, and he looked like he was about to throw up. "Shit," he muttered, and dropped his head into his hands.

"Look," Connor said. "I've been chased, shot, and-" his mind blanked as he tried to find a way to describe the animus. "And I just want to know if you're on _their _side."

The man seemed to consider him for a moment before deciding to speak. "The men that were chasing you are called templars," he explained.

"What." They didn't look like any templars he'd ever seen- he hadn't even considered the possible connection, honestly.

The man seemed to misunderstand his confusion. "I know," he said. "They were supposed to be disbanded after the cursades. But trust me, they're still out there and they're still dangerous. They want nothing more than control over everyone on the planet. They would have gotten it already if not for us." he gestured vaguely around the room. "The three of us are assassins, members of an ancient order opposed to the templars."

Connor stayed silent. If these people were assassins, it meant they were allies. He studied them under eagle vision- all blue. A good sign.

"I'm telling you this because I'd like for you to join us," the man continued. "You're clearly intelligent enough to evade the templars, and that's saying something these days. Especially among your generation." His gaze strayed to the boy on the chair, who didn't even seem to notice.

At that moment another man came in. He seemed much more cheerful than the first, and his good natured face was covered in laugh lines. He smiled brightly at Connor. "You're awake," he said. "Good. My name is Doctor Melvin." He reached out a hand expectantly and Connor shook it. "I'm going to need to give you an examination," the doctor continued. "If we could just have some privacy..."

Two of the assassins- if they were telling the truth about being assassins- nodded and left, but the third, the one in the chair, stumbled as he got to his feet. The Doctor gave a long suffering sigh. "I might as well take a look at you, as long as you're here. I don't imagine you see much in the way of decent medical care if half the things your dad tells me about that farm of yours are true."

"I'm fine."

"I think I'm the doctor here, not you," said Doctor Melvin. "Now take a seat and I'll get to you in a moment."

Connor allowed himself to be poked at for a full five minutes before pushing the doctor away. He was declared 'mostly fit, all things considered, but your elbows are really bony and could you maybe try to avoid hitting my nose with it in the future' by Doctor Melvin. Connor apologized- he hadn't meant to hit him so hard. It was mostly just instinct mixed with the stress of the last few weeks.

"Your turn, Desmond," Melvin said, and turned to the boy on the chair. "What's the matter with you today?"

The examination that followed took at least twice as long as Connor's, and at the end of it Melvin drew back, a look of extreme concern on his face. "This is impossible," he said quietly. "Completely impossible. The symptoms are consistent with those of only one other patient I've ever examined. My daughter, several years ago. She was working with Abstergo at the time."

Connor, who had been leaning against the wall, barely paying attention to the ongoing examination, straightened suddenly. He'd heard that name more than one once during his imprisonment by the templars.

"One day," Doctor Melvin continued, "I went to her house. She didn't know where she was, or who I was, or who she was."

"The bleeding effect," said Desmond.

"You know it?" asked the doctor.

Desmond hesitated, then nodded. "Intimately."

"I thought so," said Doctor Melvin. "Listen. After I found my daughter like... like that, I spent years trying to cure her. It's how I first met your father, actually."

"Did it work?" Desmond asked.

"No. She couldn't cope and finally she killed herself. Two years ago this October."

"I'm sorry," said Desmond.

"Don't be," said Doctor Melvin. "It was Abstergo and their animus that killed her."

"The animus?" Connor interrupted. "What about it?"

"You know about it?" Doctor Melvin turned back to look at Connor.

"The same people that shot me put me inside one."

"Really?" Melvin frowned. "You're not showing any symptoms."

"I was only in it for a few minutes," said Connor. "Then I decided it was time to leave."

"Wish I'd done that," said Desmond. "I was in it for four months."

"Tell me about it," said Doctor Melvin. Desmond hesitated.

"You're going to think I'm crazy."

"Of course you're crazy," said Doctor Melvin. "That's the whole point of the bleeding effect. We'll try not to judge."

But the story that followed was hard _not _to judge. Connor had nearly convinced himself Desmond was, in fact, crazy, when the narrative turned suddenly to his own life. And everything Desmond said was so accurate, Connor knew it must be true.

Desmond was careful not to mention Connor's name in front of Doctor Melvin, or to show in any other way that the person he was talking about stood less than ten feet away. Connor was grateful for that. He wasn't sure what the rules were for the twenty first century, but he did know that the less people that knew where he had come from, the better.

Occasionally, Desmond would look over at Connor and make an almost apologetic face, like he expected Connor to be angry. And he was. But he was angry at the people that thought a nightmare like the animus was a good idea. The templars, or Abstergo, whichever name they were using these days. And he was angry at Juno, and whatever other precursors that had helped her. When Desmond finished his story, Doctor Melvin let out a long sigh.

"Well," he said. "I'm not really sure how much help I can be. I don't know anything about time travel or, um, emotional trauma. But maybe I'll be able to help a little with the bleeding effect."

"That would be great," said Desmond. Maybe it was because he was still thinking about his time in the animus, but he spoke in flawless Kanien'keha. Connor guessed it was part of the bleeding effect, as Desmond didn't even seem to notice. Doctor Melvin did notice, and his face turned grim.

"And not a moment too soon, apparently," he muttered. Then, louder; "Listen Desmond. The problem with the animus is that it does a very effective job of convincing your brain that you are more than one person. So you need to teach your brain to process all the information it's gained from your ancestors the same way it would deal with information you learn normally. You don't go crazy from studying maths, for example, and if you can convince your brain that the things you learn from your ancestors is no different, it should dramatically cut down on the hallucinations you're experiencing.

"I'm not sure exactly how you can do that. I've only had one other... patient and that... well like I said earlier, that didn't end well." Doctor Melvin hesitated. "But if I were to give a theory, I'd tell you that when you start to feel the bleeding effect coming on, you need to look around. Find the things that don't fit the situation your brain is trying to convince you is real. Focus on those things."

Connor met Desmond's eye- he did not know a lot about the way the bleeding effect worked, but hopefully his being there could be helpful in at least convincing Desmond that he wasn't Connor- it had to be harder to think you were someone else when the someone else was standing right there.

"It will be extremely difficult," Doctor Melvin finished. "And I'm sure you know that no one has ever been succesful-"

"It's okay," said Desmond, back in English. "I can do this."

"Hmm." Doctor Melvin turned to Connor. "If you have to, hitting him round the back of the head could also work."

"Hey!"

"I will keep it in mind."

"Some doctor you are," Desmond complained. "Where'd you go to school?"

"School of hard knocks," said the doctor, and roared with laughter at his own joke.

"I do not get the joke," said Connor.

"That's okay," said Desmond. "It wasn't actually funny."

"Hey!" Doctor Melvin protested.

There was a knock at the door, and the girl from earlier- earlier, during his story, Desmond had called her Lucy- poked her head in. "Desmond?"

"Yea?"

"Your dad sent me to get you guys," she said.

"What, he heard laughing and figured since we were having fun it was time to go?"

"Pretty much. You coming?"

"Kill joy," Desmond muttered, but followed Lucy out the door. After a few seconds' hesitation, Connor followed. He wasn't sure exactly where this all was headed, but clearly he had nowhere else to go.

******-/-**

**Well, longest chapter yet, but I'm not so happy with the way it turned out. Whatever, I still had way too much fun writing Connor. :) Interesting fact- I didn't think I liked Connor until I took a break from AC this weekend to play through Bioshock, and then I went back to it and my brain was like 'CONNOR YOU'RE BACK!' and I realized I was a Connor fan. Who would have thought.**


	6. Chapter 6: Desmond

There was very little conversation for the first three hours. Desmond's father quizzed Connor on his home life- where he had come from, who would miss him if he didn't go back. Connor answered as vaguely as possible, while implying he wouldn't be missed back home.

Eventually, Lucy asked, "Are we going back to the Farm?" They had stopped at a rest station and she was studying a large map of the state posted on the wall inside, next to the vending machines. "Becaus we're going kind of far east-"

Desmond's father, standing nearby, shook his head. "No."

Why not?" Desmond asked.

"Not here," his father answered. "Too many people." Back in the car, he offered an explanation.

"We had a platoon of templars just stumbled across us," he began. "None of them made it out alive, but we don't know if they had any contact with anyone off site, or if the other templars had any way of tracking them. It would be much too risky to stay. Of course we're moving."

"You could have mentioned it earlier," Desmond complained. Lucy was right- his father must really have trouble trusting them. It stung.

"So where are we going then?" Lucy asked.

"Illinois," said Desmond's father. "Near Chicago. It's close to where Abstergo has their US headquarters."

"So we're going to be neighbors," said Desmond. "This seems like a great idea."

"They're planning something," his father explained. He glanced up from the road and met Connor's eyes in the rearview mirror. "It's where they would have been holding Connor, based on the data we took off the templar's tracking device." He sighed, momentarily distracted. "I still wish we knew why." No one had told him about Connor being stuck into the animus. "And we've also had some strange intel come out of there lately. They're building something."

"Do we know what it is?" Desmond asked.

"That's what we need to find out," said his father, and for the rest of the trip no one spoke.

The second leg of their road trip was even less fun than the first had been. They were more cramped, which is just an uncomfortable fact in any situation. But Desmond's father was grumpy, Connor was clearly uncomfortable (and, five and a half hours in, car sick), and Lucy, who hadn't been there when Desmond told Connor and Doctor Melvin his story, kept shooting Desmond pointed looks, clearly impatient to know what exactly had happened back at the hospital.

Desmond spent most of the ride with his face against the window, wishing the trip over.

-/-

Soon, but not nearly soon enough for Desmond, they reached their destination. The car pulled into driveway of a townhouse in a small culdesac in a suburban town about an hour from Chicago.

The next few hours were a flurry of activity. While Desmond, his father, and Lucy went chasing after Connor, the rest of the Farm had apparently been packing up and moving out. Apart from the obvious change of location, however, surprisingly little had changed. There were still the same people, the same sense of insular community- it was as if someone had scooped up the entire farm and redeposited it a few hundred miles away.

The culdesac that now housed the assassins held four buildings, each of which was divided into two distinct sections, which meant there was room for each of the seven families, with another half of a building left over for official assassin business- training, meetings, planning, the works.

But Desmond had little time to learn this for a while- at first, while the new arrivals were freshly arrived, and therefore news and interesting, several of the assassins gathered around, and for a while it was all 'how did it go?' and 'is that kid with you?' and a thousand other questions he had to answer until he turned blue in the face. Finally, he was able to steal Lucy and Connor away, and run off to hide somewhere out of sight. When they were finally alone, he spent a few hurried minutes catching Lucy up on what had happened after she left Doctor Melvin's office, finishing with, "...and I think we really need to figure out why all this crazy time travel stuff is happening, or we're going to be drowning in ancestors."

Lucy shook her head. "How are we supposed to do that?" she asked. "Everything in modern science tells us time travel is impossible."

"But we are here," said Connor.

Lucy shook her head. "I know," she said. "That's not my point. I just mean that if there's no answer in modern science, maybe we need to look at an older science."

"First civilization?" Desmond asked. "Is that what you're talking about?"

Lucy nodded. "We were both near POEs when we- died." She hesitated and turned to Connor. "Sorry if this is a little abrupt, but how did you..?"

Desmond had been wondering that himself, but somehow the topic was one that never came up in casual conversation. He'd imagined that Connor had died- well, violently. He couldn't imagine him dying in bed surrounded by family at a ripe old age.

But he hadn't expected the story he heard. After Connor finished his narrative, Desmond and Lucy sat in silence for more than a minute.

"Well then," said Lucy at last. "At least we know that things can always get more confusing."

"But you were right, I guess," said Desmond. "It sounds like the POEs can do weird time... universe... traveling stuff."

"Now all we need is a way to stop it from happening again, before you start drowning in ancestors," Lucy said dryly.

"Do you think that likely?" asked Connor.

"I don't think we can rule it out..."

Connor and Lucy were still talking, but Desmond was no longer listening. There was something about Connor's story that seemed just a little bit off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

Then, suddenly, it hit him.

"Connor," he said. "Have you-"

The conversation was interrupted by something unexpectedly runningn around the corner and attaching itself to Connor's legs. He seemed about to kick his assailant off, but luckily looked down first, and went stiff as a board.

"Sorry," Desmond said. "That's Natalie. She has a hugging people thing." At three yaers, five months, Natalie Drench was the youngest person at the Farm- or what had been the Farm before it was moved.

Connor gave Desmond a look that practically screamed 'help'.

"You're pretty," said Natalie, squeezing Connor more tightly.

Desmond laughed, and tried- without success- to hide it behind a cough. "What?" he asked, when Connor glared at him. "Hey, Natalie, why don't you show Connor around?"

"Okay!" Natalie smiled brightly and let go of Connor's knees, only to reach up and grab him by the hand. She shouted "Come on!" and reluctantly Connor allowed himself to be led away.

"Lucy glanced at Desmond, smiling. "That was mean," she said. "I don't think he's too comfortable with kids."

"He's just grumpy," said Desmond. "And Natalie's basically grump proof."

"Just as long as you're the one that has to deal with him after she tries to have a tea party," said Lucy. "Or cracks open the Disney movies." She walked off, shaking her head, then called back- "Have fun explaining Pocahontus!"

"I... didn't think of that," Desmond admitted.

"I know," said Lucy. "That's why you have me."

-/-

The first week in Illinois passed quickly- there was a lot to do. Most of it- chores such as unpacking and reorganizing- Desmond managed to avoid by simply not being around. He, Lucy, and Connor went out a lost, mostly so they could talk without being overheard. There was a lot to talk about.

Desmond's mother had insisted Connor stay with their family instead of moving in with any of the other assassins. When his father pointed out they already had Lucy in their spare bedroom, she reminded him that she'd always wanted a large family. The argument went on for several hours, but in the end Desmond's mother won- as she always did- and Connor moved in.

At least it meant Desmond was around to cover for Connor when he made some anarchistic comment, or was completely stumped by some ordinary twenty first century custom. And with Connor around, Desmond really did have less trouble with the bleeding effect- it hadn't disappeared completely, but he hadn't woken up unsure of what century it was in a while.

But while he was getting more comfortable having Connor around, he still hadn't asked him about the glaring hole he'd spotted in his ancestor's story. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the answer. It was actually Lucy that brought it up first. She cornered him one afternoon when they were alone in the house.

"Desmond-"

"Hmm?"

"We need to talk about Connor." She looked nervous. "I mean- there's- he hasn't actually said anything, but- Desmond, I'm pretty sure he's a virgin." Her face was red as a tomato, and Desmond felt his own heat up in response.

"Yea," he muttered. "I thought so. I mean, when he was telling us about that other world with the evil George Washington, if he'd had a family or something back in his universe, he would have mentioned, but-"

"But how does he have descendants if he's a virgin," Lucy finished.

"I actually have a theory," Desmond admitted. He'd been thinking about it a lot. "But it's just a theory. I don't have any kind of evidence. But I think Connor wasn't 'supposed' to die. He wasn't even in his own universe, I mean- there has to be some kind of physics against it, or something. And I think, maybe that, plus having a POE floating around- it kind of shook up history, and here we are."

"That's..." Lucy sighed, and shook her head. "That's crazy." She ran a hand through her hair and half turned her back on Desmond.

"But it makes sense, right?" Desmond urged. "I mean, I put a lot of thought into this."

"How does any of this make sense?" Lucy burst out. She took several quick, shallow breaths, and Desmond suddenly realized she was almost hysterical. He grabbed her by the shoulders, and said, "Lucy-" but he never got any farther, because before he could, she'd reached out and then there was hugging and crying and he just wasn't sure what to do because hormones and girls and _Lucy_. So he just stood there, and held her as best he could.

**-/-**

**So. Three notes about this chapter.**

**1) This is the chapter where my chemistry notes invaded my rough draft. Seriously, if you want to know what happens when you combine cyclohexene with bromide, look no farther than chapter six. Yuck. Why would you want to know that.**

**2) Speaking of rough drafts, this is all I have written so far, so chapters might come in a little slower in future.**

**3) I think these last few chapters have been getting boring. Too much talking, not enough action. Clearly it's time for some explosions. Or something. Probably explosions.**


	7. Chapter 7: Connor

Connor did not find it as difficult to adjust to the twenty first century as he had expected. People were exactly the same, everywhere. There were new technologies, and nearly half the world seemed to have been rearranged in the past few hundred years- there were some strange new elements to the culture that he had trouble wrapping his head around- but mostly, he thought he was doing well.

On Wednesdays, Lucy and Desmond took Connor on what they called field trips and he called complete wastes of time. They went to all kinds of places- libraries, movie theatres, malls- all in the name of getting Connor to better fit into the twenty first century. Or at least be able to pretend to.

It was annoying and he wished they would stop.

He made a point of mentioning it every week when they first announced their Wednesday plans, but somehow he still ended up going with them every time. He had never cared much for conforming to what others wanted him to be, and he had no plans to suddenly start. But Desmond and Lucy were the closest he had to friends these days, and besides- the trips weren't always as bad as he expected.

Then one week, an entire Wednesday passed without any mention of an excursion at all.

It was one of those early autumn days where the weather seemed torn between summer and fall- the sun still shone brightly, but the wind seemed determined to blow over anything not firmly attached to the ground, adding a new chill to the air.

The weather made Connor jumpy- it could only mean that winter was coming, and he knew what that meant. Long months of cold weather, of snow and sleet and too many people stuck inside together. For once, he would have welcomed a Wednesday out.

Instead, he spent the day restlessly paging through a book on history- supposedly, it covered the events leading up to America's war for independence, but the dry tone of the text completely failed to capture any of what Connor had seen for himself during those years.

Finally he gave up on the book and slammed it shut. He needed a mission- something, anything, to pass the time. The last time he could remember having so much free time was- well, never. There was only so many hours a day he could spend in training without seeming suspicious, and as his only other activity was Wednesday field trips, that added up to a lot of spare time.

"Hey Connor." Lucy knocked on the half open door to the bedroom Connor and Desmond shared before poking her head in. "We're going out Friday instead of today. Sorry, Desmond was supposed to tell you but apparently he forgot."

Connor grunted. Cabin fever tended to leave him surly.

Lucy sighed. "Not you too," she said. "Desmond's been prowling around all day, bored out of his skull."

"How do you avoid it?" Connor asked. "We just sit here, doing nothing- and the templars are planning something- we know they started building something at the beginning of the summer- we knew it months ago- but no one does anything."

"It's hard," said Lucy defensively. "There are so many more of them than there are of us, and they have the money, and the power- they have the advantage over us in nearly every way-"

"And they always will, if we do nothing," said Connor.

Lucy wouldn't- or couldn't- meet Connor's eyes. "It's hard," she repeated, but more quietly, as though convincing herself.

"Desmond told me you used to be a templar," said Connor.

Her head jerked round, checking that no one was around to overhear. "Yea," she admitted.

"But you're here now."

"I've changed my mind."

She showed up blue in eagle vision, and Desmond apparently trusted her. But short term alliances could sometimes turn an enemy blue, and Desmond was clearly struggling with some kind of romantic feelings. Connor wanted more. "Why?"

"Because they left me for dead." The words came out sharply. "Because when Desmond killed me, Abstergo had agents five minutes away. They could have saved me. They have the best medical technology in the world. But they went chasing after the apple, and it took me more than an hour to bleed out, completely alone. But then, when I came here, and saw Desmond- he cared. And he was still angry, and I'm not sure if he trusts me, or what- but at least he cares. And I know what side I want to be on."

She tried to smile into the sudden silence that followed her words. "Anyway, I only came in to tell you we're going to a football game this Friday at the local high school. Should be fun."

-/-

Watching football, Connor discovered two days later, was not fun. The rules were confusing, the crowd was way too excited, and most of the game seemed to be short bursts of apparently exciting activity followed by an extended period of tedium while the whole thing reset.

After about half an hour of trying to figure out how football had somehow become so popular, Connor started to look around, hoping there was something around to distract him. His eye landed on a man on on the other side of the stadium.

The man was in the third row, about ten yards from the home team's end zone. He looked extremely out of place- he was apparently alone, easily in his mid forties, and instead of watching the game, his eyes seemed to be fixed intently at something in his hands.

"What are you looking at?" Desmond asked. Connor was about to explain, when the stadium suddenly exploded into a blinding, face burning fireball.

Connor was thrown back several rows, and only instincts honed from years of training let him fall on his feet. Instead, he scrambled down the rapidly collapsing stands. It looked like the evening would be interesting after all.

The first explosion had torn a gash right across the field, and little fires, quickly growing, had started in half a dozen places. There were screams now as people clambered to their feet and looked around. Connor ignored them- they were screams of panic, not pain. Mostly. He charged forward- across the smoking ruins of what had been the football field, he could see the man from earlier, watching the chaos with a smirk on his face. Everything about the man set off alarm bells with Connor.

He tore across the field, dodging a few stunned players and leaping over fresh cracks in the Earth. The bomb had done a lot of damage, but very few people seemed hurt. He just barely had time to notice before reaching the other side. The out of place man looked up at Connor in utter shock for just a second before Connor slammed into him, knocking the man over and pinning him down before he had a chance to move.

"What did you do?" Connor demanded.

The man snarled at Connor and tried to free himself. Connor did not move.

"You have no idea what you've stumbled into, _boy_," the man spat. Connor glanced down at the man's and, and completely failed to be surprised at the ring he saw there. He supposed there must be other ill intentioned people in the world, but somehow he only ever seemed to run into templars. Typical.

"I have not had a good day," said Connor, but the man wasn't listening.

"Get off me," he growled. "It's here, I have to-"

There was a sudden sharp crack of gunfire from behind Connor, and he jumped back instinctively. The bullet had not been meant for Connor- when he glanced back at the man he'd been questioning, he saw a small, perfectly positioned hole in the man's head.

He glanced back, but there was no sign of the shooter apart from a shadowy sillhoutette rapidly disappearing into the smoky air- watching it, Connor suddenly realized just how bad the smoke had gotten. The fires were spreading.

Reluctantly, Connor turned to leave, but not before grabbing the little device the dead man had been playing with before the explosion, which now lay beside his body. Connor had no idea what it was, but he was not quite the best person to identify twenty first century technology. Better to take it and let someone else figure it out.

By the time Connor made it out of the disaster area, people- firemen- had arrived and begun to take control of the situation. Connor slipped away from where most of the crowd was milling around, numb and confused, and went in search of Desmond and Lucy.

He found them at the very edge of the crowd, and made his way over. Lucy saw him first and nudged Desmond. Connor saw her point and heard- "Look, he's fine. Quit worrying."

Connor almost missed a step at that. He was not used to having people worry about him.

"We should get out of here before the police show," said Desmond. "My dad's going to kill me as is- I don't want to know what he'll say if we get pulled into some kind of official investigation."

It was simple for the three of them to slip away without being noticed. They were halfway home when Lucy said, "Who would even want to do something like that? What's the point?"

"It was a templar," said Connor, and told them what he had seen, both before the bomb and immediately after. He ended by pulling out the device the dead man had been playing with.

"It's a detonator," said Lucy at once. "Pretty advanced, too. For some reason, blowing up that field was really important to them."

"We need to find out why," said Connor, and no one argued.

**-/-**

**Explosions. Delivered.**


	8. Chapter 8: Desmond

"Seventeen dead, thirty nine wounded, and thousands of dollars in property damage."

Desmond shifted uncomfortably. His father had waited exactly thirty seven minutes before confronting Desmond over what had happened at the game. They had not been a fun thirty seven minutes.

"It's not like it's my fault," Desmond complained.

"Do you even understand what it means to stay under the radar?" his father asked. "Do you know what the templars would do if they ever found us here? If they got hold of us?"

Desmond wanted to tell him that _yes_, he _did _know, he'd been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Or the hallucinations, as the case might be. But he didn't. Instead, he took a deep breath. "I can't control what happens to blow up around me," he said. "But I know that explosion had nothing to do with us. There were templars there- Connor saw one. But they were looking for something else." He repeated what Connor had told him and Lucy on the way home, leaving a few details out to make Connor seem like a slightly more passive observer.

"But you don't know what he was looking for," said his father when Desmond was finished.

"All he said was 'it's here'," said Desmond. "but if it's in the school somewhere- as long as the templars didn't get at it tonight- I want to go in and find whatever it is, before they get another chance."

-/-

It took some convincing, but in the end Desmond, Lucy, and Connor were allowed to investigate. The only real problem was the way in which they were to do the investigation.

"You got us in enrolled in high school," said Lucy after she heard the plan.

"Sorry."

"You never went to high school, did you?" Lucy asked. "It's not fun. And are they even going to be open after that explosion?"

"Most of the damage was to the field," said Desmond. "They're closing it for a week for repairs and damage assessment, then reopening it."

"And what about Connor?" Lucy pressed. "He hasn't had any formal education- neither have you, actually. You can't just jump in at the middle."

"We have to," said Desmond.

"Templars," Connor added, speaking up for the first time.

Lucy sighed. "Fine. But when we're all drowning in that teenage hormone pit-"

"You can say 'I told us so'."

-/-

The days went quickly, until one morning Desmond realized he'd be starting school the next day. He lay in bed, considering it for several minutes. Then he got up, dressed, and climbed out of the window. There was something he wanted to check out before classes officially started up,and it would be easier to do that on his own.

Mostly because it was kind of a long shot, and he didn't want to hear about it for a month if he was wrong.

Connor, always an early riser, was nowhere to be seen s Desmond climbed out of the window. He had just begun to congratulate himself on a successful escape when he heard someone call his name and turned to see Natalie's mother, a small, smiling woman with an enormous talent for knifeplay. "Desmond," she said again when she saw she had his attention. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Oh- well I was actually-"

"I'm going out and need someone to watch Natalie." Mrs. Drench bowled right over him.

"I was-" she glared. Not really an angry glare, just a low, steady glare. A patient glare. "Fine."

-/-

And that was how Desmond found himself crawling into a manhole cover behind the high school with a toddler. He'd considered not going, but he was't expecting any danger, and he didn't know when he'd get another chance.

Because the thing was, he'd done some research. He'd looked into why the templars might have wanted to blow up the football field, and he'd come across an old newspaper article that mentioned old- incredibly old- tunnels that had been found under the high school when the football field was first constructed.

Why they'd blown the field when it was guaranteed to be full, Desmond had no idea. It wasn't hard to piece together why they'd wanted to get underneath it, though. They were looking for something, according to what Connor had said. Whatever it was, it must be somewhere in the tunnels.

The bomb hadn't gone deep enough to penetrate the tunnels, at least not as far as Desmond had seen, so he had decided to chance finding an entrance to the tunnels through a less explosive entrance.

Under the ground, Desmond was relieved to find a relatively clean, sturdily constructed area. Natalie was not as pleased. "What are we doing?" Her voice echoed loudly on the concrete walls.

"I need to look for something," Desmond said. "And I need you to stay here, and not move. Okay?"

"I don't wanna."

"Just for five minutes," said Desmond.

"No!"

"I'll buy you an ice cream after."

"Promise?"

Desmond nodded, already moving away. "Five minutes. Don't move!"

He was away for more like fifteen minutes, but Desmond reasoned that Natalie didn't know how long five minutes was anyway. But after a quarter hour of unsuccessful searching, Desmond's concious started to poke at him, and reluctantly he turned back to where he's left Natalie. He hadn't found anything of interest. He didn't know what the tunnels were actually used for, but they were definitely modern. Modern and uninteresting.

Natalie was still where Desmond had left her, contentedly munching on an enormous chocolate chip cookie and humming a cheerful tune. Desmond froze. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

Natalie shrugged. "A guy."

It could have been a coincidence. There could have been someone else in the tunnels. At the same time as them. Behind a temporarily closed down school. Who had apparently arrived, given Natalie a cookie, and then left.

Right.

"What was he like?" Desmond asked, trying not to sound too urgent, knowing Natalie would get scared and clam up if he did.

"Old," said Natalie, which was a pretty unsurprising description, considering she was two years old. "And he talked funny. But he was nice." She held out what was left of the cookie as proof.

"How did he talk funny?" Desmond pressed.

"Is it time for ice cream now?"

And that was it. Recognizing defeat, Desmond changed the subject. "You really shouldn't talk to strangers," he told her as they climbed back up. "Didn't your parents ever tell you that?"

"No."

Desmond had to admit this was unsurprising. Assassins had some weird ideas about parenting- the only lessons he remembered learning from when he was Natalie's age were variations on 'nothing is true, everything is permitted'.

"Well, you shouldn't," he told her.

"Okay. Ice cream now?"

**-/-**

**This chapter feels rushed. I can't help it. I'm working up to a point that has me really excited! And I want to get there so things are going quickly. Also I'm starting to get to the point of this story where all I can see are the mistakes, and I'm trying to finish fast before I lose any kind of energy and motivation. Also before finals because ew.**


	9. Chapter 9: Desmond

Desmond's first class of his first day of high school went badly, possibly because it was a math class. He'd heard people complain about algebra before. He'd never understood why.

Twenty minutes into class, Desmond not only felt that he understood, he had also realized Lucy was going to get her 'I told you so' pretty soon.

By lunch- after sitting through not only algebra, but also English, Spanish, and a truly terrible period of gym- he was ready to admit defeat.

Except that when he actually found Lucy, sitting by herself at the end of one of the long, rickety tables in the cafeteria, the first thing she said was "You were right."

"What?" he stared at her blankly. "No, you were-"

"There are templars here," said Lucy. "Or one, anyway After the templars didn't find... whatever it is they were looking for under the field, one of the teachers here apparently disappeared. I heard a couple of the secerataries in the main office talking about it when I went in to get my schedule. He's just gone, and no one knows what happened. And the temp they have subbing in for him is named Martin Delaney. I know him from- well, you know. From before. They're still looking, which means they haven't found it yet. We're on the right track.

Connor, who had been missing up until that point, appeared behind Desmond and sat down next to him. "I feel like I should be more surprised than I am by these templars," said Connor.

"They are kind of showing up everywhere," Desmond agreed. "How's your day been going?"

"I do _not _understand the point of gym class."

"There isn't one," said Lucy.

"Then why do we-"

A giggling huddle of girls suddenly deposited themselves next to the trio of assassins. One of them, a tall brunette with an upturned nose, hesitated then turned to Connor. "Hey," she said. "You're new, right? I noticed you in French class" She didn't wait for him to answer, but went on. "You know, if you ever need help with studying or anything, I'd be happy to help you out You know. Just us two."

"I will keep it in mind," said Connor, then turned back to Desmond and girl seemed a little flustered by his disinterest and let it drop.

Lucy caught Desmond's eye and said, "I did tell you- teenage hormone pit."

"What?" asked Connor.

"She was flirting with you," Desmond explained.

Connor considered this for a few seconds, then shrugged and made a face halfway between distaste and boredom Desmond wondered, not for the first time, how Connor had ever, in any universe, managed to produce descendants.

"We do have other problems," Connor pointed out. "More important problems."

"Like what?"

Connor raised an eyebrow. "Martin Delaney," he suggested.

"I was thinking he might actually be helpful," Lucy said thoughtfully "I mean, we still don't know what the templars are looking for. He could lead us to it. And we know who he is, but he doesn't know who we are."

"What does he look like?" Connor asked

"Kind of pimply," said Lucy. "About twenty five years old, he's got a scar next to his left ear- he likes to tell people it's from an assassin attack, but really it was this accident from when he was in college with a blender and one of those giant pickles-"

"He knows me," Connor interrupted.

Lucy frowned. "From when you were at Abstergo?"

"He worked on the animus."

"Great." Lucy sighed. "You don't have physics, do you? We can't let him see you if he's going to recognize you."

"I had it this morning."

"Must have been a different teacher then," said Desmond. "Now we just need to keep you away from Delaney until we find whatever it is we're looking for."

Connor looked doubtful, and Desmond couldn't blame him. It wasn't that big of a school, after all.

-/-

But, for the first month at least, nothing went wrong. It was strange.

Nothing went right, of course, but at least the assassin trio's biggest problems were trying to blend in, and not anything more life threatening- Desmond in particular had a hard time sitting through history classes. His teacher, Ms. Mannell, spent nearly a month on the historical importance of the crusades. It would have been bad enough if he'd only had to deal with how wrong her information was, but the lectures also tended to trigger the bleed effect, worse than it had been since before Connor showed up.

And it was Connor, actually, who saved Desmond whenever he started involuntarily channeling Altair during class. They had history at the same time, and Connor would spend most of the period making dry comments on whatever Ms. Mannell was lecturing on.

It turned out that Connor could actually be sort of funny when he wanted to, even if it was in a sarcastic, blink and you'll miss it style. The sheer novelty of it managed to keep Desmond firmly planted in the twenty first century. And Desmond was grateful, he really was- even if he did catch a sort of pitying look in Connor's expression whenever it happened. He tried not to make too much of it- he knew Connor must be remembering his own brief time in the animus, and the horror of losing himself as he went under.

They never talked about it.

-/-

Then one day, things went crazy.

It was the thirty first of October- a Friday. Halloween. Desmond would have been happy to ignore the holiday completely. Connor, who had been in an increasingly bad mood as Illinois's six month winter closed in on them, had been kicking up a stink over the holiday ever since he first learned about it. Apparently, he considered it pointless. But, since Halloween fell on a school day, there was no avoiding it, or the costumed students using the day as an excuse to dress up and act out during class.

The day dragged past, and after lunch, Desmond decided to skip history. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Ms. Mannell, the bleeding effect, or an extremely grumpy Connor. So he was outside during sixth hour, shivering slightly in the chill, when he noticed the manhole he'd first explored weeks ago with Natalie.

It was open.

Cautiously, Desmond made his way over to the manhole and peered down. A black pit stretched down below him, but at its bottom he could see a faint light of some kind.

It could have been some maintenance men doing routine work of some kind.

It could have been, but it wasn't. Something in Desmond's gut, instincts honed by years of lives that weren't his, were telling him that this was it. This was what they had been waiting for.

He climbed down.

The light at the bottom turned out to be a storm lantern. Desmond hesitated, then left it behind. He'd brought a flashlight last time, but he could get along fine by just using eagle vision. Besides, he could see traces of blood on the ground around the lantern, evidence of a fight. He didn't want to announce his presence.

The trail of blood led away from the entrance, deeper and deeper underground, until Desmond came up unexpectedly against a seemingly solid wall. A panel on the wall glowed brightly through eagle vision, and when Desmond examined it, he found a circular indentation in the wall. It was the exact same size and shape as the one at the entrance to the temple in New York. He stared at it, frustrated. There was some kind of first civilization structure less than five feet away. The tunnels he'd been walking through had probably been built for the sole purpose of accessing whatever was on the other side of this door (which at least explained the existence of such a complex network of tunnels under a high school). It was these tunnels he'd read about in the newspapers back when he was doing research on the football field explosion, which meant the templars must have been looking for this door the entire time.

And he was standing right in front of it, without the way in.

As he was about to despair of ever getting in, Desmond suddenly noticed that the doors edges were ever so slightly out of alignment with the rest of the wall. It hadn't been closed correctly- apparently, sometimes he did get lucky. Just very, very rarely.

Grimly, Desmond put his shoulder to the door, which slid open with surprisingly little noise. He stepped through- and stopped short, right in the doorway.

Compared to the temple in New York, this place was much more visually impressive. The architecture was clearly based around the same principles in both places, but while the one in New York was obviously meant to be worked in- there was a certain utilitarian element to the whole design- this one was not.

It was designed to be impressive- sweeping arches, grand staircases, carefully carved designs etched onto the walls. They were beautiful, in an extremely foreign way. For the first time, Desmond realized that the first civilization had really been a civilization. Here was their art, a place where their people had gathered, for some purpose or other. He was so used to seeing them as cryptic oracles- or, since Juno, as enemies- but this made him reconsider.

"Impressive, isn't it?" The words were not in English, but Desmond still understood. Another 'gift' of the bleeding effect.

Desmond looked down,into the main part of the room. The door he had come through opened at the top of a set of stairs, and at the bottom, he now noticed two people. One of them was Delaney, either dead or unconscious, Desmond couldn't tell which.

"It is," Desmond replied cautiously in the same language. He thought he knew who the other person was, but he wanted to be sure. Slowly, he made his way down the stairs. "What happened to him?" he asked, nodding to Delaney.

"He came to steal the Apple of Eden that was hidden here."

Desmond stopped a few feet from the lowest stair. Only a few feet away, even in the surreal glow that seemed to always be present in first civilization structures, he had no trouble recognizing Altair. Like Connor, Desmond knew Altair's features as well as his own- even if Altair did seem to have joined the ever growing number of people in the 'suddenly seventeen again' club.

"How long have you been here?" Desmond asked. For some reason, this conversation seemed stranger even than his first few with Connor. Maybe it was the unusual setting, or maybe it was just that Connor had at least seemed a little freaked by the whole situation. Altair was almost unnaturally calm.

"Nearly a year," said Altair. "The templars have been trying to get in here, but they cannot be allowed to take possession of the apple."

Desmond nodded. That much, at least, was obvious.

"Which is why we need to get it back."

"Back?" Desmond repeated. "What happened to it?"

Altair suddenly looked embarrassed, which surprised Desmond. But the humanity of the expression was somewhat comforting- he did have feelings, apparently. "He distracted me," said Altair, poking at Delaney with his foot. "And while I was elsewhere, one of his friends took the apple."

"So they have the apple." Desmond's stomach clenched. Suddenly, after weeks of boredom, everything was happening so fast. He met Altair's steely gaze, and tried to match it. "Let's go get it back."

**-/-**

**Little known fact that nobody cares about: Delaney is the name I use more commonly than any other. Pretty sure there's been a Delaney in almost everything I've written in the last three years, and I write /all the freaking time/. I could make like an army of fictional Delaneys or something.**


	10. Chapter 10: Altair

Altair tried to control his excitement as he and his descendent hastily made their way aboveground. To be honest, he had waited years for this. His apple, the one that he had been burdened with from the moment he first picked it up, had warned him that this time would come. It had shown him snatches of the future, enough to know that one day he would be a part of it.

Still, the future was strange. The apple had not shown him everything, and when he tried to blend among the people of the twenty first century, he often found himself the subject of strange looks. His lack of English made things worse- every language he knew was at best a few centuries out of date.

So he went underground. He knew where the apple was kept, and how to enter the structure without an apple being actually present. It did not take long to find that the templars were after first civilization secrets, or to realize that he needed to prevent them. So he burrowed down in a corner of the cavernous hall, and waited.

He did venture aboveground occasionally, but only very rarely. For supplies, once in a while. Once in a failed attempt to stop templar agents from planting their bombs in the field nearby. Another painful reminder to Altair that foreknowledge is not always enough to make a difference, or to stop a disaster from happening.

But mostly, Altair stayed underground, dwelling on everything he had lost. They were happy memories, tarnished by the dark feelings of loss and regret that lay over them. His family deserved better.

"You coming?" Altair had stopped at the bottom of the ladder that led out and up, to let Desmond climb up first. Lost in his thoughts, he had not followed him up.

"Yes," he called back, and began to climb. At the top, Desmond was waiting, his posture slightly nervous as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Do you know where they will take the apple?" Desmond asked.

"They have a base near here," said Altair. It was nice to hear and speak his own language again, even if it was slightly eerie. Desmond, through his time in the animus- one of the worst elements of the future that the apple had shown him- had copied Altair's language exactly, event down to the accent. Listening to Desmond was like hearing his own voice from someone else's mouth.

"I know it." Desmond nodded. "But if we go there, the templars are going to kill us. There are just too many of them." He made a wry face. "And if they don't kill us, my dad will probably do it for them if he finds out I went running off without even letting him know."

"we can catch them before they ever reach their base," said Altair. He kept his voice confident, athough he had no idea how it could be done- only that it had to be.

"Alright," said Desmond. He hesitated, and seemed to stare off at something over Altair's shoulder. When Altair turned around to look, he saw the school's staff parking lot behind him. "I think I have an idea."

-/-

Two skills Altair had not known Desmond possessed- stealing motorcycles and riding them. But not only was Desmond apparently talented in both respects, he seemed to be enjoying it. Altair, riding the 'borrowed' machine behind Desmond, decided quickly that he did not like it nearly so much. It was probably not the worst journey of his life- but it was close.

Still, the bike was fast, and that was what they needed. They were getting close to the apple. Years spent so near a precursor artefact had taught Altair to sense them, and as Desmond snaked the motorcycle around angry motorists and onto a highway, he knew they were minutes away from their quarry.

Altair kept his eyes only half open as protection against the wind, which made it hard to look for whatever car the templars had carried the apple away in. Finally, he spotted it. "There" he pointed two lanes over, where an armored trunk was chugging away, about a hundred yards ahead. Desmond nodded and maneuvered the motorcycle until it was right behind the van.

"How do we get inside that?" Desmond asked.

"We don't," said Altair, and closed his eyes.

Another thing he had learned from the apples- they were not built to be contained.

Inside the van, he knew the apple was responding to his concentrated efforts. It would be slowly heating up, growing warm and then hot, in answer to his needs. It took nearly a full minute, but then he heard a sizzling noise as the apple melted straight through the bottom of the truck, then a clunk as it fell onto the highway's tarmac surface. Quick as he could, Altair leaned down and snatched the apple up as they passed.

It was perfectly cool in his hand.

"How did you do that?" Desmond demanded.

"Never mind," said Altair. "Just get away from here!"

The motorcycle revved again, and Desmond accelerated, swerving around the truck. Someone inside the truck noticed the glow of the apple in Altair's hand, and opened fire. It was too late, though- the two assassins rapidly left the truck behind.

-/-

Back at the school, Desmond and Altair regarded eachother across the motorcycle. Desmond had returned it to exactly the place he had taken it from, none the worse for its adventure. No one, with any luck, would ever know it had been taken.

"What will you do with it?" Desmond asked, nodding at the apple.

"Take it somewhere," said Altair. There were other places that could guard the apple, he knew. Places he could only hope the templars knew nothing about. "Hide it. Then, I will come back."

"Good," said Desmond. "it would be nice to talk without..." he made a gesture that somehow managed to encompass the apple, the templars, and their highway adventure all in one.

"Yes," Altair agreed. "It would be. And besides, this is not over."

"What isn't?" Desmond asked.

"The templars will not give up until they have what they need to finish their work. And before you ask-" Desmond already had his mouth open. "No, I have no idea what they're doing. I only know they have some sort of plan, and any fool could see that."

"We'll find out what it is," said Desmond. He nodded at Altair. "Good luck."

"And you as well."

**-/-**

**Ugh. So... yea, not very happy about how this turned out. Turns out, Altair is not fun to write. Yuck.**


	11. Chapter 11: Desmond

When Altair had disappeared, Desmond checked the time and was surprised at how little time the entire adventure had taken. School hadn't even let out yet. Much as he hated the idea of going back to school, he was ready to burst with the need to tell Connor and Lucy what had happened.

He entered the school and made his way to his seventh hour class, physics, which was nearly halfway over. He tried to be as unobtrusive as possible as he came into he classroom, then realized there was no point. The class's teacher, Dealney, was lying dead in the tunnels below the school. Either he hadn't been reported missing yet, or no one cared enough to find a replacement sub. The class was in an uproar- second to last period, on a Friday, which happened to be Halloween, it probably would have been crazy anyway. But without any kind of adult supervision, anarchy truly reigned.

Lucy sat in a corner of the room, staring idly out the window and tapping a pencil against the side of her desk. Desmond hurried across the room, ducked a paper airplane thrown by someone that apparently had nothing better to do, and slid into the empty seat next to her.

She shot him a look that was half annoyed, half amused. "I don't know what's worse," she said. "That you skipped half the school day, or that for some reason you decided to come back." She glanced around wryly. "Even Delaney didn't bother coming in today." She checked to see no one was listening, then lowered her voice. "You don't think he's... you know. He hasn't found whatever is is the templars are looking for, has he?"

"Well actually-"

"Of course not." Lucy shook her head. "He probably just decided not to come, or got stuck in a staff meeting. That's the problem with doing- ah- what we do. You start to see conspiracies everywhere."

"He found an apple in a first civilization sanctuary under the school but Altair killed him. But he passed the apple off to some other templars so we chased them down on a motorcycle and stole it back."

"Or, you know," said Lucy. "Maybe I wasn't thinking crazy enough."

Desmond gave her the full story, pausing only occasionally to make sure no one else was listening. When he was done, Lucy shook her head. "This is getting ridiculous," she said. "We need to find out what the templars are up to. And the sooner the better, because you're running out of ancestors. I fully expect Ezio to show up next and he is not the most subtle person in your family tree."

"Not exactly," Desmond agreed. "But I mean- we already knew we had to find out what the templars are up to. That doesn't help us figure it out."

"We need to get inside," said Lucy.

"You want to break into Abstergo?" Desmond demanded.

"We're not going to get any information from out here," she pointed out.

"You're crazy."

"Says the guy that just went on a high speed motorcycle chase with his centuries old ancestor," Lucy shot back.

Desmond had no reply to that.

-/-

Connor, when he heard the story during eighth period study hall, agreed with Lucy that they needed to take the fight to Abstergo if they ever wanted to find out what the templars' plan was. Desmond knew Connor was frustrated to be doing nothing, and to be left out of the only interesting thing to happen in months.

It worried Desmond more than a little. He wouldn't put it past Connor to run off and try something on his own, maybe getting himself hurt in the process. It wasn't that he didn't think Connor could handle himself. It was mostly just that Connor, like the rest of them, had no idea what they were looking for, and whatever risks he took would be for nothing.

That night, Desmond sat down with his father and repeated the story for the third time. He left a lot of the details out, trying to make it seem like he didn't know anything about the first civilization. He also left Altair out of the story completely.

When he was done, Desmond got up to leave, but his father stopped him by a hand on his shoulder. "You did a god job," he said.

Surprised, Desmond could only mutter a "Thank you". He hesitated, then asked, "Do you know what the templars are trying to build?"

His father seemed to hesitate, peering at Desmond as though sizing him up. Then he seemed to come to a decision. "Yes. We've had people trying to hack into their systems for months now, and just recently they've managed to access some of their more secure files."

"So what is it?" Desmond asked.

"A time machine."

"Isn't time travel impossible?" Desmond did his best to sound casual. Honestly, his heart was in his mouth. He didn't know if he was worried about being discovered as a time traveler, or concerned that the templars were after the secret (or apparently close, if they'd figured out that the apples were somehow important).

"Of course it's impossible," his father snorted. "But say what you will about the templars, they do have a knack for the impossible. Take the animus, for an example. You don't come up with something like that without a great deal of intelligence, and not much concern for what's possible."

"You also have to be batshit crazy," Desmond pointed out. A heavy note of bitterness found itss way into his voice, but luckily his father took no notice.

"Obviously," was his only response.

"Are we doing anything about the time machine?" Desmond asked.

"That depends who you mean by 'we'," said his father. "I will be. You won't."

Desmond bit his lib- there were all kinds of reasons he needed to know how close the templars were to an actual, working time machine. The problem was, he couldn't actually mention any of them. So instead, he said, "Lucy and Connor and I have been working on this for weeks. We got Delaney."

"Delaney was tangentially related at best."

"No," said Desmond.

"I'm sorry?" said his father, in a tone that suggested Desmond was about to be, unless he had a very good explanation.

"I heard Delaney talking about some big project the apple was going to be used for," Desmond lied. "It has to be the time machine, right?"

"It could be." Desmond waited. It seemed that there was probably more coming and, sure enough, after a few seconds- "Desmond, over the past few months, you've changed in ways that have made me very proud. You're well on your way to becoming a full assassin, but you're certainly not there yet."

Desmond took a deep breath. It was entirely possible that what he was bout to do would mess everything up. But what other choice did he have?

"I think I'm ready," he said.

"To become an assassin?" His father actually smiled, as if Desmond had made a joke. "I don't-"

"Trust me," said Desmond. "Give me a test. Whatever you want. I'm ready, and I'll prove it to you."

The several moments it took Desmond's father to consider the idea seemed to stretch out much longer.

"Fine," he said at last. "When you fail, at least it will be a valuable lesson."

-/-

"Some people," Desmond complained bitterly, "Should never be allowed to become parents." Immediately after leaving his father, Desmond had sought out Connor in their shared bedroom to complain.

Connor, who was sitting on the floor near his bed, gave Desmond an incredulous look, which Desmond chose to ignore. Connor might have had a worse relationship with his own father- much worse, really- but that didn't mean he had a monopoly on father complaints.

"It's like he wants me to fail," Desmond continued. "He actually came right out and said so! I mean-"

"Do you think we will still be here next year?" Connor interrupted suddenly.

Derailed, Desmond blinked. "What?"

"In school," Connor clarified. He held up the sheaf of papers he'd been looking at while Desmond complained. "I do not want to bother signing up for classes if we have no plans to be here next year."

"Oh..." Desmond shrugged. "I guess, unless something goes horribly and unexpectedly wrong."

Connor sighed. "I really do not like that school," he said. "Still, it is better than doing nothing."

Desmond recognized that this was an attempt to change the subject, and let it happen. "Then what's the problem?" he asked.

"These classes are moronic," Connor answered bluntly. "I have to take English, economics, US government-"

"That one's going to be fun for you," Desmond said dryly. "I heard the teacher idolizes the founding fathers. You get an entire semester of hearing how great George Washington was."

Connor frowned and, apparently without realizing, touched the place where Washington's killing blows had left scars.

"Sorry." Desmond tried to pull his foot back out of his mouth. "I didn't mean-"

"And then I would have to take a maths class," Connor spoke right over Desmond. Clearly, he didn't want to talk about it. "But I still have four free periods. All these elective classes are pointless."

"Aren't you taking Spanish next year? And there's still gym and lunch."

"I was told that I am not allowed to take gym next year," Connor admitted.

"Well maybe if you didn't keep showing everyone up," Desmond suggested.

"Maybe if people were not asking for it."

"Maybe if you didn't punch that one kid in the face."

"He was asking for it."

Desmond shrugged; the kid in question was kind of a jerk. "Alright," he said. "So you add in Spanish and a lunch hour... not gym... that's six periods, since government and econ are only one semester each. So you only need to find two more classes to fill out your schedule."

"What about accounting?" Lucy rapped the door prefunctorily, then came in anyway. "I've heard it's fascinating. Anyway, I couldn't help overhearing. Mostly because I was listening. Oh and Desmond, I heard about what you told your dad."

"Already?"

"Everyone's heard. Darren's pissed."

Desmond had known Darren Greenfield since they were children. Darren was five years older, and a lot of Desmond's earliest memories were of being bit sat on, and punched by Darren. Things got worse as the pair grew older, until suddenly, when Desmond was about twelve, Darren abruptly grew bored with tormenting Desmond. Since then, they'd mostly ignored each other. Desmond didn't think they'd had a single conversation since he'd come back in time. Still, he knew Darren had become something of a poster boy for the local assassins. He trained hard, fought well, and gave everything he had to the assignments he was given.

And now Desmond was going to become a full assassin first.

"He is going to make things fun," Desmond muttered.

"_He _is not the problem," Lucy corrected. "The problem is that you're either going to take this test and fail, which is going to be bad for everyone, or you'll succeed and completely blow everything."

"I need to do this," Desmond said.

"Is this about pride?" Lucy demanded.

"No! This is about getting into Abstergo." He looked her straight in the eye. "You know how important that is, and Lucy- they're building a time machine."

He could tell from her expression that this was a piece of news she hadn't known. "And they were after the apple..."

"So yea," Desmond said. "They're close."

"Wait," Connor interrupted. "You just found out the templars are building a time machine. And you spent the last half hour complaining about your father?"

**-/-**

**Kind of an abrupt ending, but I couldn't think of anywhere to go from there except a six week time jump, which seemed like a good place to start the next chapter.**


	12. Chapter 12: Desmond

A month passed. Desmond heard nothing about the test he would have to take to prove himself an assassin. He knew it hadn't been forgotten. The looks he occasionally caught from the others were proof enough of that. And then, there was Darren.

As soon as he heard there was a chance of Desmond being made assassin he got mean again. It wasn't the same as when they were small- if it had just been Darren beating on Desmond, he could have handled it. He might even have welcomed a chance to beat Darren for once. But Darren's animosity now took a subtler form. Snide comments, derisive glances, the occasional whispered assurance that there was no way he could succeed. All perfectly calculated to get on Desmond's nerves.

As a form of stress relief, Desmond found himself doing an awful lot of complaining.

"And if I just punch him, I look like the bad guy." Desmond found himself, halfway through December, in the first civ tunnels under the school with Altair. His ancestor had been back in town for nearly two weeks, and at first, he'd found himself a little in awe, and embarresingly tongue tied. Altair was literally a legend among assassins, after all. But, when Connor and Lucy continued to take an 'it's your fault we told you not to' attitude, Altair started to seem like a good alternative.

"Maybe you should just punch him anyway," Altair suggested when Desmond stopped for breath.

"What?" Desmond stared at him. "That's terrible advice. I can't do that."

"Well in that case, stop complaining."

Desmond sighed. Altair's patience was also running out, apparently.

"have you tried talking to him?" Altair asked. "The assassins have always been a brotherhood. You should realize that you both work toward the same goal."

"He's not exactly the brotherly type," said Desmond. "More like he's just a jerk." He sighed and stood up- he'd come down to visit Altair straight after school, and it was nearly 6:30. "I should get going."

"I will walk with you," said Altair.

"I know how to get home," Desmond protested.

"I need some time out of the tunnels," said Altair, and his voice made Desmond swallow the rest of argument. Something about it just seemed so lonely.

-/-

It was a fifteen minute walk from the school, shortened to ten now that the weather had turned truly cold and hurrying home seemed a better idea than lingering. They walked in silence, giving Desmond a chance to examine Altair. There was no reason he had to spend all his time underground. He looked completely normal- a lot more normal than some of the people Desmond saw at school, honestly. He wore a hoodie, blue jeans, and scuffed white sneakers that crunched softly over the snow covered sidewalk with every step. He'd been born hundreds of years ago, but it wasn't like you could tell- at least, not until he needed to talk to someone and all the words he had were from languages that had changed a lot.

"Do you want to come over sometime?" Desmond asked. "Just, you know. Hang out. Somewhere with actual sunlight?" They had reached the street where the assassins lived, and stopped on the sidewalk to talk.

"Maybe." Altair looked a little surprised. "I-"

"Desmond!"

"Crap," Desmond muttered. He glanced over to see his father thirty feet away in their house's doorway. As usual, he looked unhappy. He made an apologetic face to Altair, and said, "I'd better go find out what he wants. See you around."

Altair waved and headed back up the street, where he was quickly swallowed up by the darkness of the December evening.

"Who was that?" Desmond's father demanded as soon as Desmond was inside.

"No one," Desmond lied. "Just some kid from school."

"You know you shouldn't bring people here," his father said. "What do you think would happen if he found out we're assassins?"

"Literally nothing," Desmond muttered under his breath.

"What was that."

"I said it's not that big of a deal."

"How much do you even know about him?" his father continued. "What if he turned out to be a templar spy?"

Desmond had to try very hard to keep from laughing at the idea of anyone mistaking Altair for a templar of any sort, but luckily his mother came into the room before he had to come up with an answer.

"There you are," she said, smiling. "Ready to go?"

"Go where?"

She turned to her husband and frowned. "Didn't you tell him?"

"I was getting to it."

"To what?" Desmond asked.

"Your test," said his father. "You ready to be a full assassin?" his tone made it clear he still thought the whole thing was a terrible idea. "Well pack your bags, you're going to Italy."

-/-

Desmond didn't actually pack any bags, but htree hours later he did find himself on a plane to italy on it's way out of O'Hare international airport, on his way to Italy. In the seat next to him sat Darren, the biggest down side to the mission. Desmond had actually felt pretty good coming in, considering he'd just been forced to bypass airport security (being an assassin, he didn't want to be tracked leaving the country). He'd been looking forward to this test for over a month, and the prospect of finally just doing it had him eager to get going.

The problem really was Darren.

As usual.

Desmon should have known he wouldn't be allowed to take this test without Darren. Everyone knew he had been waiting to be made assassin for a while, and from what he'd seen, Desmond had to admit he deserved it. And, he supposed, he wouldn't have actually minded if Darren was made assassin at the same time as him.

Unfortunately, he'd been told that he and Darren would be competing- they'd been sent to Abstergo's Italian branch (the same one Desmond had once been held captive in), to retrieve some sort of crucial information that apparently wasn't accessible from outside the building. The actual retrieval would be easy enough. Desmond and Darren each had what looked to be ordinary flash drives, although they had been assured the drives would do all the hard work of seeking out the files and creating copies.

The hard part, in Desmond's opinion, would be avoiding the bleeding effect. He'd had almost no problems since meeting Connor and Altair, but to actually be back there...

"Your dad told me to make sure the templars don't kill you," Darren said conversationally. "Because apparently nobody thinks you can-"

"Darren." Desmond took a deep breath to keep from yelling. "Can you please just give it a rest?"

"Fine," said Darren. To Desmond's further annoyance, he didn't sound bothered at all. "But I'll be saying I told you so after I have to drag your ass out of there."

Desmond scowled and turned to stare out the window. At the moment, the plane was stationary on the runway, offering an uninspiring view of tarmac and luggage carts. It was still better than looking at Darren.

**-/-**

**Coming up next is one of the chapters I've been really looking forward to writing! I actually have it all rough draft-ed out and ready to type out, but it probably won't be up until at least Thursday, as I'm going to a dress rehearsal for a musical at my school tomorrow during my normal typing time. (In case you're wondering, it's called Three Penny Opera, which is based on Beggar's Opera, which is the show featured in ACIII... which may or may not be why I'm going in the first place. Don't judge me).**

**Or I might just type it out now. We'll see.**


	13. Chapter 13: Connor

As usual, Connor woke up on the floor next to his bed. There was no real reason for it, he just had a hard time sleeping on furniture. Normally, Desmond would make some comment when he invariably found Connor picking himself up off the carpet. Connor would then point out that Desmond slept through his alarm at least four times a week, an the argument would continue from there until Lucy came by to remind them that they actually had to get to school at some point.

But Desmond was on his way to Italy with Darren, so Connor got ready to leave in silence. He met up with Lucy in the kitchen, where she was picking apart a muffin and staring out the window absentmindedly. Connor realized she was worried about Desmond, and tried to think of something comforting to say.

"He knows what to do," he tried at last.

"I know," she said. "And he's good enough to get it done. But there's always a chance he won't come back. The other guys only need to get lucky once."

"He will come back."

Lucy sighed. "Let's just get through today," she said, and, abandoning her muffin, led the way outside.

They could and sometimes did walk to school, but it was snowing again, and neither of them were in the mood for a walk. Instead, they joined the pair of students already shivering in front of the large tree at the mouth of the culdesac that marked the bus stop.

The other two people at the stop were Carol Lewis and Andre Dekker, a sophomore and senior respectively who lived two blocks away and had apparently been friends for years. Andre waved half heartedly at the two assassins as they approached. "Ready for another day of exciting education?"sked.

"No."

"Where's Desmond?" Carol asked. "He sleep in again?"

Connor hesitated- he had not thought to come up with an excuse for Desmond's absence. The three assassins kept mostly to themselves, and Connor had not thought anyone would care enough to ask where he was. Then again, they had been making small talk with Carol and Andre since September.

"He's sick," said Lucy.

"Oh, that sucks." Carol made a face.

"Still." Andre stamped his feet on the frozen sidewalk to get some feeling back into them. "At least he gets to stay in bed all day."

-/-

There were a lot of strange rules in high schools, Connor had learned. Rules about hats, rules about when you were supposed to go to the bathroom, rules about where to go and when to get there and how long to stay.

But one of the strangest rules, in Connor's opinion, was the one forbidding students entry into the hallways until ten minutes before classes started. What this meant was that nearly two thousand students were crammed into the school cafeteria every morning. It was bad enough in warm weather, but in winter, with everyone bundled up in coats and hats and scarves, tracking water in and dripping it everywhere, the situation was even worse.

Connor and Lucy crammed themselves into a more or less open corner and settled in to wait.

It should not have taken long. It should have been the same as any other morning. It was not. After about ten minutes, there was an enormous crash from the second floor, and the entire cafeteria fell suddenly silent. Connor glanced at Lucy, and saw that she had gone tense.

"OH God," said Carol from nearby. Her voice seemed suddenly very loud in the dead quiet of the room. "It's another bomb, isn't it?"

It was not, in fact, a bomb. The sound had been completely different, but as the school's football field had been blown up a few months ago, Connor supposed the students were not to be blamed as a low murmur of alarm broke out.

"I think that's our call," Lucy whispered, and Connor nodded. "Before they could do anything, however, a burst of gunfire rang out overhead. Connor glanced up, reaching instinctively for a weapon that was not there- since the bomb incident, weapon searches had been too regular for any of the assassins to risk going armed. Connor had thought it no more than an annoyance- he could improvise well enough- until just that moment.

But as he looked up, Connor caught sight of something that- for the moment- distracted him from his missing weapons. The way the school had been built, the cafeteria held a row of windows, roughly man sized, at the top of the room. The cafeteria, however, was actually built in the center of the school, so that the windows did not look outside. Instead, they gave a fairly dull view of the main office on the second floor.

Except that now... well, through the window, Connor could see two people fighting. One was a man, the other looked young enough to be a student at the school. Connor squinted, studying the distant fight through eagle vision. The man showed up red, the boy a reassuring blue. The enhanced eyesight let him see that the two combatants were both skillful- although the boy clearly more so. From the way he moved, Connor could also tell he was either an assassin or had received some training. A nagging suspicion started to form in his mind.

Before he could mention it to Lucy, the boy managed to grab his opponent and throw him down, through the window, into the cafeteria. Students screamed, and scrambled to get out of the way. Connor did not move, keeping his eyes on the boy overhead. He looked calmly down at the chaos below, then jumped, landing gracefully on a table next to his groaning victim.

Connor blinked, his eagle vision vanishing, and surveyed the scene again. The boy was about six inches shorter than Connor, with black hair tied back out of his expressive face. At the moment, he wore a slightly intimidating stare- no wonder people were running. He was dressed in modern clothes, but wore them in a way that suggested they were unfamiliar.

Lucy breathed in sharply, a gasp of recognition.

"I take it that would be Ezio," said Connor, scarcely loud enough to be heard over the now well established panic around them.

"Yea."

"He does know how to make an entrance," Connor grumbled. Someone had apparently remembered that the cafeteria had doors, and it had become difficult to fight the flow of the flow of the crowd pushing their way outside. Within a very few minutes, however, the only people left were Connor, Lucy, Ezio, and the man on the table. Connor glanced at the clock- they probably had about five minutes before someone called the police, and another five to ten before they actually arrived.

Ezio examined the pair wordlessly, and for once Connor felt at a loss for what to do. He had no idea what to say, or if Ezio would even understand him- he had no idea if Ezio spoke anything bu Italian.

Just when the silence had started to stretch on an uncomfortably long time, Ezio turned to Connor and asked, "Are you Desmond Miles?"

"My name is Connor," said Connor, after a moment's confusion.

"Ah." Ezio looked crestfallen. "I've been trying to find him for a while, and I heard he went to this school." He looked down at the body, seeming to only just remember it was there. "But if you're not- I mean this probably looks-"

"We are assassins though," Connor interrupted. "And we know Desmond."

"Good," said Ezio, clearly relieved. "Because I could use some help- the templares are about to set off a bomb that will destroy all of history and I don't think I can stop it on my own."

Connor suddenly wondered if this was really happening, or if it was all a dream, and he was actually still asleep on the floor of his room. "What."

**-/-**

**Well. Finally got Ezio in (I've been planning him since literally chapter two). Winning.**


	14. Chapter 14: Ezio

The past two and a half years had been some of the strangest of Ezio's life. Even if he was technically dead. Possibly. Time travel was strange.

But he thought he was probably dead.

Then he'd woken up, teenaged, alone, and extremely confused. The first few months had been the hardest. The realization that his family was dead- Sophia, their children, their children's children's children's children. For all he knew, there was no one left on Earth that he could call family, no matter how distant.

Slowly, he found himself returning to the life he'd thought he was finally well and truly done with. But the templars were still around, and they weren't hard to find if you knew what you were looking for. They hid behind a different name, Abstergo, but their goals and plans were just the same as ever.

The assassins were much more difficult to uncover. Ezio knew they were there. Occasionally a templar would go missing, or Abstergo would suffer a setback on some project for no clear reason. Ezio recognized the work of the assassins. He just couldn't find them- he would have felt proud, if it wasn't so frustrating. He didn't have any idea where to look.

What he did have was a name, Desmond Miles, and the unshakeable conviction that finding him would lead tot he rest of the assassins. He didn't know how or why. The conviction was leftover from his interaction with the apple, something he couldn't understand. Still, he latched onto it like a drowning man to a boat.

He went looking anyway.

He did his best to blend. Learned English (he'd always been good at languages), traveled across America, tried to figure out computers. At one point he got as far as opening the internet, but he didn't know where to go from there, and gave it up quickly.

Then, one day he found himself in California, making small talk with a group of local students he'd bumped into at a sandwich shop. He did that sometimes, just to keep himself from going crazy and talking to himself. He had no friends, and although he didn't like to admit it, he was lonely.

The conversation meandered, from girls to cars to video games, and at some point the four of them got onto the conversation of school.

"Where do you go?" one of the boys asked Ezio.

"Homeschooled," said Ezio, his usual line, and the boy- his name was Mike- made a jealous face.

"Jealous," he complained. "School sucks. Especially history."

"I like history," one of the other boys- his name, unfortunately, was Eustace- piped up.

"You just like having Parnelli for a teacher," Mike complained. "You wouldn't be so happy if you Crock."

"You guys wanted to take honors," said Eustace.

"Never again," said Ryan- the last of the group. "We spent, like, three days last week writing essays." His tone spoke volume on his opinion of essays.

"I wrote mine about STDs in the 1400s," said Mike. "Apparently, like, everyone had syphilis."

"Why are you writing syphilis essays in history?" asked Ezio.

"'cuz Crock didn't think to say we couldn't," said Mike proudly.

"Well it's not true, anyway," said Ezio, who didn't much like the thought that to people like Mike, the century he'd been born in was reduced to 'hey I heard a bunch of people had syphilis'.

"Well obviously not everyone," said Mike. But- hey, Eustace. Look up fifteenth century syphillis."

And Ezio watched with carefully disguised amazement as Eustace pulled out a flip phone and started opening google. Ezio had never heard of googling something before.

He excused himself as quickly as he could. He'd only expected a bit of conversation when he wandered into the sandwich shop that afternoon. Instead, he'd been given an entirely new place to search for Desmond Miles.

-/-

He made it to the local library half an hour before it closed and sat down in front of a computer. He felt a familiar thrill as he opened the internet- this was technology he'd never have even dreamed of a few years ago. Of course, it was a feeling that came on an almost daily basis- everything from water fountains to mechanical pencils was capable of setting it off.

At the google homepage, Ezio carefully typed in 'Desmond Miles' and clicked on search.

The first page and a half of results were useless, and mostly Ezio found a lot of references to a Desmond Mills, who was apparently a college level lacrosse player somewhere in South Carolina. Interesting, but not quite the person he was looking for. But then, halfway down the second page, he found it. It was a small article on the website of an Illinois high school's newspaper, and the article was short and writer badly written. Ezio read it carefully.

It covered a competition the school had apparently held between fourth period classes to see who could collect the most canned goods for a food drive. The winning class was pictured at the bottom of the article, with the students' names listed beside the image.

There were three rows of students pictured- maybe thirty kids, of which about ten of them looked like they actually cared. The rest leaned against the wall of the classroom, or crossed their arms and glared at the camera, or seemed to be in the middle of rolling their eyes.

The name Desmond Miles was crammed into the list of names, between Anthony Mayer and Tanya Moon, but there was no indication of where he was in the picture. Ezio hunched over the screen, examining each face minutely. He wasn't sure what he was looking for- but he knew when he finally found it. Desmond stood around the middle of the back row, face half turned away from the camera. There was enough of it visible for Ezio to recognize it, though it took him a moment to remember where from. Then it hit him- the Masyaf keys. Desmond looked eerily similar to the young Altair he had seen in the visions there. Not identical, but very close.

"Excuse me?" Ezio tensed and spuna round, only to find himself face to face with a librarian. She jumped back, startled, and Ezio quickly shot her a smile of apology. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't hear you." Mentally, he marvelled at how intent he must have been if she'd been able to get right up behind him. He glanced at her shoes and almost groaned aloud- she was wearing heels, too.

"We're closing in five minutes," the librarian said.

"Thanks," said Ezio, and turned back to the computer as the librarian nodded and hurried away, heels _clunk-clunk-clunk-_ing on the carpeted floor. He noted down the school's address with a sense of excitement. He was close.

-/-

Except somehow it had all gone wrong. He reached the school without any problems, but half a mile out, ran into an Abstergo van parked on the side of the street. It wasn't an unusual sight, exactly- Ezio knew Abstergo was into a lot of things, including television, and he'd seen vans almost exactly like this one sent out to fix or install cable all over the country.

The difference with this van was that underneath the large Abstergo logo on the van's side was a small image of a templar cross. This was no cable van. Ezio hesitated. He was so close to finding Desmond, after years of searching. Of course, if templars were nearby, it could be related. With a groan, he went to investigate.

Inside, the van was crammed full of surveillance monitors, hard and digital copies of what looked like local maps, and half eaten bags of doritos. One of the computers beeped- Ezio glanced over and saw a pop up announcing a new message had arrived.

It took a moment for Ezio to figure out the interface, but when he finally did, he realized it was all there- plans, schematics, everything (whoever owned this computer apparently didn't delete old messages often).

They were building a bomb.

But not a bomb like Ezio had learned to build long ago in Constantinople, or even a nuclear bomb like he'd heard of since coming to the twenty first century. It was a bomb that would blow up time. People, items, all sorts of things, would be blown out of their own native time and into other years or centuries. The closer you were to the bast center, the more likely you were to be forced into another time.

The templars had chosen the sight of a precursor temple to blast it off- apparently they'd already lost a few people in the area, and reading between the lines, Ezio thought they might be interested in revenge.

But that wasn't the main part of their plan. Over two hundred top ranking templars were congregating at the area, to be caught by the explosion, and- if all wen as they planned- be sent back in time. Armed with knowledge of the future, they would then rewrite history to suit their ideals.

The van door suddenly opened, and Ezio found himself staring at half a dozen surprised, low level templars.

They stared. He pushed past them and ran before they could collect themselves- by the time he'd reached the high school, he'd lost or killed all but the most persistent of his followers, and the last didn't make it through the cafeteria window.

**-/-**

**So... this was going to be up yesterday, but instead of writing I went to the dress rehearsal of a musical my school's doing. It's called Three Penny Opera, which is based on the Beggar's Opera, which you might recognize as it's the scene of one of the first scenes of ACIII.**

**...which may or may not be the reason I went in the first place.**

**Anyway, have some Ezio! :)**


	15. Chapter 15: Desmond

Two blocks out from the Abstergo building, Desmond realized something was wrong. He'd been here before. He'd broken out and broken in, and visited it over and over in his dreams.

He knew the building's security. And he knew that it was all gone. The building itself was full, but Desmond knew that most of Abstergo's employees had no idea who they really worked for. These ordinary employees were still there- but if the security was gone, Desmond knew the building was empty of templars.

"Shit," Desmond muttered.

"In trouble already?" came a mocking voice, and Desmond winced. He'd forgotten that he and Darren- while in competition- were both wearing ear pieces just in case something went horribly wrong.

Which they sort of just had.

"Darren, we need to stop," said Desmond urgently. "There's something going on here."

"Hey, you want to give up, go right ahead. I'm going in."

Desmond rolled his eyes and mouthed curse words in every language he knew. But he couldn't turn back now- he still needed to make assassin, and if he backed out before going in, there was no chance of that happening anytime soon. And anyway, he couldn't let Darren go in alone, no matter how much of a pain he was.

So in he went.

It was surprisingly simple. There was still no security when he glanced into the lobby from outside, so Desmond went right in through the front door.

He did choose to take the stairs up instead of the elevator this time. Just in case.

Darren's voice came suddenly over Desmond's headpiece, a low noise of surprise. Then, a second later, Darren said, "Hey, Desmond."

"Yea?" he asked cautiously.

"I- think you might be right. There's something going on here."

"What is it?"

"Just come up here and see for yourself. I'm in a conference room on the fourth floor. Desmond nodded, although he knew Darren couldn't see him, and hurried the rest of the way up.

The whole floor was deserted, and Desmond had no trouble finding Darren. The conference room Darren was in was one Desmond knew only too well- on the other side of the room's unusually thick windows were the room where he'd first been forced into the animus. He glanced through the windows and felt his skin crawl.

"What are you looking at?" Darren demanded. "Come here."

Desmond turned his back on the animus and, trying to seem like nothing was wrong, bent over the computer Darren was looking at.

"I put the jump drive in the computer and it unlocked everything," Darren explained. "I just started flipping through and found this."

The screen displayed what looked like a timeline- a chronicle of what seemed to be the templars' failed quest for the pieces of Eden. Except- it _hadn't _failed. The last entry read 'Apple recovered. Brazil, December 4th'.

"Shit," Desmond breathed. "They found one."

"Do you know what any of this means?" Darren asked.

"It's kind of a long story."

"Hmm." Darren considered Desmond for a moment, then shook his head and flipped through the files on the computer to find something else. "How about this? Know anything?"

It was a picture, of an apple of eden wired up to a rat's nest of cables and connectors and bits of electronics Desmond couldn't identify. It didn't matter. Desmond had no trouble telling that this was meant to be a bomb. They were going to blow up an apple- but why?

"And then there's this," said Darren, and the next thing the screen showed was a picture of Desmond's school. It was attached to the same document as the apple bomb, and Desmond didn't doubt for a moment that this was where the apple was to be blown.

"Hey! What are you doing in here?"

Desmond and Darren looked up to see a small squad of Abstergo security in the doorway.

"I thought they were all gone!" Darren complained.

"Apparently only mostly." Desmond was kicking himself for not checking more closely, but pushed it to the back of his mind as he charged. Two went down before they could even duck. A third managed to get a shot off- it missed Desmond but hit Darren just above the knee. Desmond heard him grunt in pain, but a moment later, Darren had limped up and stabbed the shooter full in the stomach. Desmond took care of the last two and reached out to steady Darren as he swayed on his near useless leg.

"I'm fine." Darren pushed Desmond's hands of him, almost falling in the process.

"You're not," said Desmond. "You're bleeding bad. Just sit down and at least let me bind it, alright?" After finding Connor months ago- and learning how useless Desmond was at fixing people up- Luch had insisted Desmond learn the basics of first aid. So, when Darren reluctantly sat down, Desmond knew at least enough to keep Darren from collapsing before they left Abstergo.

"Come on," said Darren as soon as Desmond had finished. "Let's get out of here." He pulled the flash drive out of the computer and stuffed it into a pocket. Desmond nodded and turned to follow. Then, he made the mistake of glancing over at the animus, just for a second- and the full wrath of the bleeding effect crashed in around him like a wave, dragging him down and down into darkness.

-/-

It felt like drowning, like falling into a black hole. A thousand names, places, scenes, flashed past around him, blending together until he couldn't tell where one stopped and the next began.

_He was Altair, standing alone, as he always had, on the walls of Masyaf-_

No. He was Desmond Miles.

_The streets of Monterrigioni were awash with flames, and Ezio knew he must be burned from the fire. All he could feel was the pain of losing another member of his family-_

He was Desmond.

_Connor, on the edge of the homestead's inn, part of the community, but still somehow separate-_

Desmond.

He sat up, really awake at last, panting with effort. Darren, who had been leaning over him looking almost concerned, jumped back. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded. "You just fell over and started babbling. What language was that? You possessed or something?"

Desmond shook his head and got unsteadily to his feet. His mind felt perfectly clear- he knew, with the kind of unshakeable certainty he hadn't felt since the original kidnapping- exactly who he was. It was something he had never really appreciated until it was gone, and something he'd never actually expected to feel again. It was _great_. But the bleeding effect wasn't completely gone- his surroundings twisted around him disconcertingly. It was so bad that if he hadn't already known where he physically was, he wouldn't be able to tell.

"You ok?"

"No," Desmond answered honestly, but didn't go into any further details. "Look. We're not getting out of here unless we work together."

His conversation with Altair the day before came suddenly back to him- _"The assassins have always been a brotherhood. You should realize you both work toward the same goal."_

Darren hesitated, then nodded. "Alright."

Desmond tried to smile. "At least its only Abstergo's Italian building," he pointed out. Abstergo's American headquarters, the one the assassins had moved to Illinois to keep an eye on, was much larger and more carefully guarded- which was why Desmond's father had decided it was safe enough to send two novices to the Italian one, while Desmond wasn't allowed anywhere near the building in America.

"Yea, it'll be easy," said Darren flatly. Leaning on Desmond for support, Darren began to guide them out.

**-/-**

**Well... nothing much to say about this one. Except that we're drawing near the end now and that... is the most boring part to write in my opinion. I like beginnings. Pretty much the only thing keeping me motivated right now are all the ideas of what I'm going to write after this... also fanfiction is more fun than studying for calculus.**


	16. Chapter 16: Connor and Desmond

Connor had never been to Altair's underground hide out before. He had not been avoiding the elder assassin, exactly, but they had no languages in common, and somehow Connor never seemed to have the time, and- well, it was Altair. The man that had changed what it meant to be an assassin. Connor would never admit it, not even to himself, but he felt a little nervous about meeting the legend.

Of course Ezio was... legendary. In his own unique way. Connor had heard Achilles complain more than once that the precursors had rarely bothered the assassins until Ezio. And then there was his mouth. And the way he never seemed to stop moving it. Ezio was easily the loudest assassin Connor had ever met. He laughed too much, and smiled at everyone, and just got under Connor's skin in a way he had not thought possible.

And certainly not in so short a time. It had taken less than fifteen minutes for Connor, Lucy, and Ezio to exchange extremely condensed versions of their stories (Connor was still a little unclear on some of the points of what Ezio had said- apparently he had been in the twenty first century for nearly three years, longer than any of the rest of them). And in just that amount of time, Connor had already decided that he did not much like Ezio.

"This is where he lives?" Ezio asked when he and Connor reached the tunnel's bottom- Lucy had volunteered to stay up top and keep watch, just in case.

"Apparently."

"Not a very nice place."

Connor privately agreed, but kept quiet. "I think he lives farther in," was all he said.

Ezio nodded and together they set off, Connor half a pace ahead of Ezio. They said nothing for several minutes, until the tunnels started to change, and he knew they must be close to the precursor sanctum.

A stream of foreign words interrupted Connor's concentration, and he turned quickly to find Altair himself leaning against a nearby wall, surveying the two of them with obvious surprise.

Ezio turned to Connor. "Doesn't speak English?"

"No."

"And I caught about one word of that." Ezio made a wry face. "'The'."

"Very helpful," said Connor.

"I think I have an idea," said Ezio. He held up a hand and made a gesture with two fingers at Altair, who nodded and returned a similar one. Connor watched, a little embarrassed- he knew the assassins traditionally used a unique sign language that had been around for longer than anyone remembered. It was useful in situations when they could not speak out loud. Connor had never learned it himself. During his training, there had been no other active assassins in the colonies, and afterward there had never seemed to be enough time. Now, watching Altair and Ezio, he regretted it.

"We have a plan," said Ezio at last. "There aren't exactly signs for 'evil time machine bomb', but he's going to help and we can always explain later."

"Nothing could possibly go wrong."

-/-

Back outside, the three assassins found Lucy waiting impatiently by the manhole. "So what is this plan of yours?" Connor asked Ezio.

"Well, it's not exactly a plan," Ezio admitted. "It's more of an idea."

"An idea."

"'Don't let the templars blow up their bomb'."

"That's a terrible plan," said Lucy.

"We don't know where the templars are, or how many there are, or when they're planning to blow the bomb," said Ezio. "How are we supposed to make a plan around that?"

-/-

Ezio and Altair went off in one direction, and Connor and Lucy headed in the other. They had all agreed that the templars were unlikely to plant their bomb somewhere it could easily be found. That left only two places near the school where it could be- a bankrupt, abandoned mall three blocks away, and an expansive forest preserve across the street from the school.

Altair and Ezio had gone to investigate the mall, while Lucy and Connor headed for what was really more of a prairie than a forest. Of course, this was Illinois.

It was hard to move quietly in the stiff vegitation, and doubly so when everything was frozen and covered in snow. For a while, the going was slow, but as Connor and Lucy got used to the terrain, the pace picked up. It was only a few minutes later that Connor spotted a small huddle of people in the distance. He glanced at Lucy and she stopped, half a step behind him and a little to the left.

"Is that them?"

In eagle vision, the scene was a tableau of red figures, almost blotted out by a golden radiance in their center- the apple. "Yes," said Connor. "Definitely them."

"They must be about to set it off," said Lucy, a note of urgent fear in her voice. "They wouldn't all be out here otherwise."

Connor nodded, already counting. There were nearly a dozen of the templars, but most looked as though they had never been in a fight in their lives.

"You found them?"

Connor had to physically restrain himself from stabbing Ezio when the Italian spoke up from not two feet away. Instead, he turned and glared. "I thought you were looking in the other direction."

"We didn't find anything," said Ezio. He was looking over Connor's shoulder, studying the group of templars intently, head cocked slightly to one side. From behind him, Altair shot Connor a sympathetic look.

"We need to get over there," Connor said.

"Like, now," Lucy added. "Something's happening."

There was no more time for thought or plans- while Connor and Lucy were distracted by the appearance of Ezio and Altair, the apple had begun to glow with a worrying brightness. The four of them moved out together, all efforts at stealth abandoned as they closed in on the templars. Lucy was right- there was no more time.

As they ran, time seemed to stutter, passing in jumps and starts. Connor felt like he was about to be sick, but gritted his teeth and ran on. The templars were turning, as if in slow motion, to stare in surprise as the four assassins closed in on them. Connor barely spared them a glance. Everything counted now on getting to the apple before it exploded-

They were almost there when it blew.

-/-

The entire world felt it. All of time felt it. Just for a second- if such a measurement could even be applied- time ceased to have meaning. For most people, the strange affect quickly ended. They shivered, glanced round uncertainly, and went on with their lives.

But some people did not recover so easily. The templars' plan had been to use the bomb to send themselves back in time to rewrite history. And in the sense that they had been thrown back in time from the explosion, it had worked. A dozen templars loose in the past would have been bad enough on its own. But they weren't the only ones to find themselves suddenly thrown through time.

The shock of the explosion reverberated throughout all of history. The timestream was picked up and given a solid shaking- those who couldn't hold on fell through time and space. A third century man found himself in the fourteenth- a woman traveled from 1987 to 1416 in the blink of an eye- a thousand thousand people relocated in time.

And five assassins from the past and future were drawn together to the twenty first century.

Much later, after they had all been reunited, Altair would point out that they should never really have expected to succeed. Unless there was more than one group of people inventing time travel, unless there was another explanation for their appearance in 2003, their presence in that particular time and place should have been evidence of their failure.

"Not failure," said Desmond. He was sitting against a wall in the first civ sanctum, where the five assassins had gathered as soon as physically possible. He looked tired; the return trip had been more difficult than reaching Italy in the first place had been. About one out of every thousand people had been thrown out of time, and the world reeled. Security everywhere was tightened, and getting through the airport had been... complicated, to say the least. In the end, Desmond and Darren had made it through, but only by the skin of their teeth and only thanks to a good deal of luck.

"How was it not a failure? Asked Lucy bitterly.

"Well, okay," Desmond admitted. "It was kind of a failure. But look what else happened-" he gestured around the room. At Connor, at Ezio, at Altair. "The assassins have always been here to combat the templars. And the thing is- it's time travel. No matter how long it takes, if we can figure out how to follow them-"

"We can still stop them!" said Ezio, excited.

"And we will," said Altair, after Desmond had translated. "The apples are the key to all this, and we have all had our own experiences with them. We will find a way to stop them."

Desmond repeated his words tiredly to the others, and Connor nodded. "We have to."

Lucy smiled. "Alright then," she said. "You've convinced me. Maybe it's not that much of a failure. Maybe we can fix this."

"We can," said Desmond. "We will."

**-/-**

**Aaaaand that's it. Seems like a bit of a sudden ending to me. I don't know. I mean there's going to be a sequel eventually, probably (Disclaimer: no promises, if anyone even cares), but I wanted to get this story done before finals start on Friday so... yea. This happened! At least I succeeded in something, because it's fairly unlikely I will be passing calculus this semester. Joy.**

**So yea. I might put up a short scene sometime this week (I really wanted to put in Ezio and Desmond meeting, but it just messed with the flow), but other than that I wouldn't expect anything for a while.**


	17. Deleted Scene

**Just a short little piece that takes place about halfway through the previous chapter. :) Sorry for the confusion!**

The past few days had not gone well for Desmond. He had traveled to Europe and back in less than seventy two hours, was suffering from jet lag, and had eaten about two full meals in that entire time. He had been forced to dodge airport security twice, fought off the bleeding effect, and come back to discover that he as too late to prevent a piece of Eden bomb from exploding and blowing holes in the time stream. It had stolen people from all over the planet, throwing them through time and space, and occasionally depositing people from the future or past in their place. Desmond had already heard rumors of confused time travelers appearing here and there.

By far the most concentrated area from which people had been taken was the intimidate radius around the apple. When Desmond had returned to Illinois, he headed straight to the first civ sanctum, knowing that it was the place he was most likely to find the other assassins. He'd found himself walking through completely empty neighborhoods on the way there, huge groups of people caught in the blast and forcibly relocated to other points in time. The culdesac the main group of assassins had comandeered was too far from the blast to be effected, which Desmond was grateful for. Still, it was eerie to walk through neighborhoods that had been so full of people a week before.

He had been relieved to find Altair, Connor, and Lucy already underground, clearly upset but also very much still in the same time period he'd left them in. They explained how close they had come to stopping the bomb.

"You were right there?" Asked Desmond, more than a little surprised. "But you're still... here. Now."

"We're already in the wrong time," Lucy pointed out. "Actually, I think being there for the explosion might have been the reason we came here in the first place."

"But that happened months ago," Desmond pointed out.

"Time travel."

"Then why did I come back?" Desmond asked. "I was in Italy when the bomb went off."

Lucy shrugged. "Bad luck?"

From somewhere in the cavernous depths of the hall, something fell to the floor, producing a loud _clang! _

Desmond was tired, and his body reacted before his brain had time to even question what was going on. He was carrying a set of throwing knives in his bag, and he reached in and hurled one into the darkness at the source of the noise. There was a yelp of pain and then a string of Italian curses.

Desmond blinked. "I think I missed something."

"Oh yea," said Lucy. "I forgot to mention. Ezio showed up right before the apple blew. Jumped through a window, actually."

Ezio emerged from the shadows, holding his arm and, to Desmond's eyes at least, looking strange in a hoodie and jeans.

"What were you doing back there?" Connor asked.

"Just poking around," said Ezio brightly.

"Why."

Ezio just grinned and shrugged. Desmond caught Lucy's eye and she shot him a long suffering look before mouthing _'They've been doing that all day'. _Next to her, Altair seemed to be trying not to laugh. Connor and Ezio bickered on, unaware.

"Did you want that bandaged up, or something?" Desmond asked, interrupting the conversation.

Ezio looked down at his arm, having apparently forgotten Desmond had recently hit him with a knife. "Oh," he nodded. "That would be good." He made a face as Desmond reached back into his bag, this time digging around for something to wrap Ezio's arm. "This isn't the way I expected this meeting would go." To Desmond's surprise, he spoke perfectly good English, although the accent was unmistakable. "It's nice to meet you, Desmond."

"You too," said Desmond. He paused, then added- "Anyway, this whole injury thing is kind of typical. Lucy and I found Connor unconscious in a cave."

Connor glowered.

"Altair's been pretty injury free so far though," Lucy put in. She turned to Desmond, suddenly frowning. "That's it, right? You don't have any more ancestors running around somewhere?"

"Not as far as I know," said Desmond. "I mean, I have lots of ancestors, but not... animus ancestors." Except for Haytham, he added mentally, but Connor looked sour enough that Desmond decided it would be better not to mention him.

"So we shouldn't expect any more surprises?" Lucy pressed.

Desmond shrugged. "I mean, I didn't expect Ezio until I hit him with a knife."

"Grazed, really," said Ezio.

Desmond finished his ministrations and sat down against a wall. After a moment, Ezio plopped down beside him, flexing his arm gingerly. Altair caught his eye and signed at him to stop it before he made it worse. Ezio grumbled a little about Altair not being his mother, but stopped. For a while after that it was quiet. Then Altair said, "You know, we really should have expected to fail..."

**-/-**

**Ok that's actually it for this story! This little interlude takes place halfway through the last chapter but it didn't really work thematically so... here you go! Just think of it as a deleted scene like on a dvd or something.**


End file.
